Our Masks
by theluckyshot
Summary: Why wear a mask? Is it the anonymity? The feeling of power in not showing one's face, and the fear on it? Whatever the reason, in the end the mask becomes you, the comfort it provides makes you keep it in place, but at some point you can't remove it without taking a bit of flesh off along with it. 300-709.
1. So It Goes

**Disclaimer- I don't own Warhammer 40k or any works therein.**

"_**What cannot be cured must be endured,"- Edmund Spencer (1552-1599)**_

Jericus decided that being herded through the streets as mortar-fire rained down debris of buildings was not a fun experience. Inhuman war-cries echoed through the city and the grim looking masked guardsmen shepherded them like grox to the slaughter, though Jericus hoped against all hope that they were bringing them to relative safety. Clonevan was being destroyed, block by block, and there was nothing he could do about it as the immovable object of the Imperial Guard clashed with the unstoppable force of the Orks.

Surrin PDF forces had held long enough for the liberation fleet to get to his besieged planet, and luckily up until a few days ago Jericus had only heard of the greenskin menace through pict-casts. They had been in other cities until recently when like some unannounced rowdy uncle they had stormed into Clonevan crashing against the Imperial Guard forces that had only set up a mere day before.

Now things had all gone to keck and it seemed as though Jericus' entire world was going to be torn apart, and he was in the middle of it all, watching the fall as everything he had known was thrown asunder. He barely felt the rough shoves and jostles of the panicked crowd around him as he simply went with the flow. An hour ago he had watched as the hab-block he had grown up on had been blown to pieces, most of the inhabitants un-evacuated, his own family included.

What stung most of all though, it was Guard artillery strike that had done it. He was being herded by the same people that had sent his family to the Emperor, and still he couldn't bring himself to act. All he could do was keep going on numbly and hope the people that had just taken everything away from him would lead him to safety.

"All civilians to the manufactories, proceed in an orderly fashion, any obstructers will be shot to prevent further loss of life," a skull-masked guardsman spoke evenly over a hailer. The crowd seemed anything but orderly, but Jericus noted with relief that at least no one was being trampled, and no one seemed willing to test the guardsman's threat. Suddenly the store-face to the right of the evacuation column exploded outward, showering the crowd in brick mortar.

With an alien war-cry around a dozen orks materialized from the kicked up dust and began to hack apart anyone unfortunate to be caught close to them. Jericus had been thrown over by the blast and was recovering, only to see what he thought to be his death descend upon him, as a muscle-bound ork raised its oversized axe above its leering face.

"Time fera choppin!" the bloodthirsty xeno bellowed, about to bring the crude but deadly weapon down. Jericus looked on with numbed horror as the xeno brought down the axe to end his life, only to be covered in its blood as its massive chest exploded and its head simply disappeared under a concentrated barrage of deadly light-energy. The heavy axe dropping a mere foot from his prostrate form, looking over at the weapon he hadn't noticed the grim-looking guardsmen who had saved him.

They advanced past him firing in volley's into the xenos mob, watching on he saw as the remaining orks were cut down by their concentrated fire. His gawking was interrupted as he was abruptly lifted to his feet by another guardsman who had been behind him. A macabre skull mask filled his vision as he came face to face with one of his saviors.

"Proceed to the safe zone citizen," the guardsman stated loudly above the sounds of battle, and then pushed Jericus in the direction he had been heading. His destination in sight half a block down, the mammoth entrance to a manufactory open like the mouth of some great goliath, swallowing the streaming crowds of Surrins as they were directed into it by their skull-faced saviors.

Coming to the entrance Jericus' face was bathed in red-light as he entered the familiar building, being pushed along by the crowd he eventually couldn't move any further as the space became full. Heavy grinding sounds became audible as the main doors began to close up, leaving the crowds of frightened civilians bathed in blood-red light. A tech-priest began to preach of trust in the Omnissiah and its holy machines, how they would be protected within such a sacred place as the manufactory.

This seemed to calm the crowds as people began to quiet and put their faith in the machine god, or the Emperor. Making his way over to a wall through the crowd Jericus rested his back against the cold metal of the structure. Head in hands he began to slide down to the floor, no longer caring if he would be trampled, or if the orks broke through at any moment. His home, his life, his family, all gone in the span of a day, and it seemed as through the battle raging outside would be never ending.

Burying his face into his arms and bringing his legs in Jericus Quint simply let the stresses of the day overtake him, and fell asleep.

**XXX**

This is how it starts. That is what I think as I sift through the psyche evaluations. These men and women have no idea what is in store for them, the ork invasion of their planet just the beginning in a long line of confrontations they will now have to endure.

My home world, Baurin, has been destroyed, exterminatus was enacted to deny the chittering horrors its biomass, and stop the entire subsector from being consumed.

Majority of the survivors that could be evacuated chose to serve in the Imperial guard regiments that tried to save our planet. Most of the ones who served and currently serve in the 82nd Death Korps of Krieg were conscripted into said regiment.

When it was still in its prime my world was an agri-world, alive with beautiful forests, the air clean and pure, and I used to make a living from fishing, now I'm a korpsman, a blank. You see when you join, or are conscripted you're turned into a blank slate, during my training I didn't understand; in fact I hated my superiors, and in some ways I still do. But, now I know why their methods are necessary, for many years I have fought against the Emperor's enemies, mere dissenters, foul xenos, the arch-enemy, each one more sinister than the last.

In those years of service I had seen the horror and wonder which the stars had to offer. It left me with the knowledge that for these new recruits to stand up to those same abominations that all that they were would have to be erased, so that all they had was resolve and a relentless determination to destroy the Emperors enemies. Unfortunately I know that I will not succeed, because despite my best efforts they will all still have a shred of humanity left in them, and that will be both their greatest strength and weakness.

This new batch was interesting. I've served in the 82nd for about a dozen years now, give, or take what with the nature of warp travel, and in those years I've trained a good number of new recruits. Most of my own batch has been killed in action, out of the original 862 of us only about 120 remain in service give or take a few dozen, casualty reports are seldom clear.

Anyway, as I was saying, this new batch, Surrins, they're an odd lot. Then again the Kriegers themselves are still an enigma to me. But the Surrins, these people seem so pale, and their builds lean, most of their faces are sharp and angular, plus most of them have a funny way about them in general, can't really explain it, they just feel…off. It makes me wonder about their world, I would expect them to be of a more stout stature considering most of them for generations have had to work in the manufactories dotting their planet. Not to mention the slightly higher than average gravity, their muscles should be denser as should the bone structure, maybe it was, but they certainly didn't look it.

Surris itself seems like a harsh world, the air is surprisingly fresh in juxtaposition with its numerous manufactorums, but the conditions are crisp. It's on the borderline of being an iceworld, and one would think that the cold, and hard work should've forged hardier looking folk; though, perhaps they are strong in spirit to make up for their physical shortcomings. Besides we can't afford to be picky, the liberation of their world from the orks cost the 82nd more troopers than we would have liked and we need to desperately replenish the ranks.

By the Colonel's estimates we need around 1500 more souls to get back up to full strength. The Colonel is an actual Krieger and he doesn't want our regiment merged with one of the other non-krieg ones. The Randon are nutters and the Hoarfell are almost the complete opposite of the korps, undisciplined and almost casual in their regard for duty he says. The fact that said two regiments seem permanently conjoined with the 82nd by the Departmento Munitorum is baffling to him. I'll tell you why the 82nd is attached to the Randon and the Hoarfell though; the regiments work exceedingly well together.

Even so, korps troopers must be stolid in their purpose and rigid with their disciple, no room for troopers who would fly off the handle, or become bogged down by petty emotions. Thusly I have dedicated my time and energy into transforming these Surrins into the steadfast troopers the 82nd and the Imperium needs them to be. Or so the Colonel believes.

And so began the selection process. We decided on line-workers from Manufactorum-Glanis based out of the city Clonevan, mainly because they would already be accustomed to a largely structured existence and would be used to taking orders. In other words the large majority of them would have the perfect psychological make-up to become troopers in the 82nd.

Once we had weeded out about half of the original 4,000 candidates with standard psyche evaluations we moved on to the hands-on selection process. I oversaw this part myself; I had my best troopers conduct the questioning and judge the candidates. As I understand it, it's all about the subtle reactions the candidates give off when they're being questioned in-person, a slight twitch of the eye, a sniffle, a subtle flick of the wrist. We culled an additional 682 candidates, leaving myself and the other Watchmasters around 1,318 new troopers to train.

Less than what we need, but quality needs to be maintained. The others probably wouldn't have made it through the training, and if they did, they wouldn't be the kind of troopers we would need. As it is I expect at least another 80 will be claimed during the training period and I'm the optimistic one out of the Watchmasters assigned to training.

I am to train echo-company consisting of troopers 1,000-1,185. Their designations will become their true identities as mine had when I was first selected for training. I expect they will be slightly hesitant at the beginning, after all I certainly was; however, I will quickly break my group of that most unwanted of habits.

They will ask themselves the same questions I did when I was in training. Why was I chosen? Who are these strangers to take me away from my home? These thoughts will become few and far between, in time, there will be nothing I can do but try to give them a sense of purpose.

I believe I was promoted to the rank of Watchmaster because I have come to terms with these things, and because out of my original platoon I am one of only a handful still alive. Still, I like to think more was taken into consideration for my promotion than my mere survival.

Now as I sift through the psyche evaluations of the candidates I am to transform into Korpsmen on my data-slate I can't help but wonder which among them will actually make the transition. There are a few kinds of people in these situations, the ones who learn, and step up to the challenge, the ones who don't and die, and then there are the few who are born for it. Looking over the picts of these Surrins I don't see any who look to be born for war, I only see those who might be able to learn.

It would seem I got a fairly good crop of candidates to train though. Putting my data-slate to the side I lean back in my chair. In my temporary quarters I am allowed such luxuries such as a desk and chair. The 82nd has repurposed an old warehouse on the outskirts of the city as a makeshift barracks and the surrounding land as training grounds. The familiar surroundings and structures should help the new troopers acclimate to the training much faster.

Also we have the good fortune to be helping the severely overwhelmed Surris PDF to mop up the few remaining pockets of ork resistance as well and help with disposal of the foul xenos corpses. Thus, I will be able to train these candidates on their own home world, which should at the very least motivate them to a small degree.

Unlike myself and the rest of the survivors of Baurin they will be able to have the comfort of their native air and daylight cycles during the training. As it stands the fleet will be held up at Surris for about three standard months, more than enough time to train these new korpsmen and then I even have the time spent during warp travel to their first combat operation to whip them into shape if I have to.

As I lean back in my chair I find myself reflecting upon what a un-korpsman-like action it is. My legs seemingly prop themselves up on my desk, it is not something I should be doing, letting myself relax like this, it would not have been tolerated when I was a mere trooper. I will not tolerate such lax behavior from my troopers, but being that I'm now a veteran Watchmaster I get to have a few lapses in discipline, especially when there's no one around to see me.

It must have looked quite strange. A fully battle dressed Korpsman leaning back in a chair with his feet up on a desk, the gasmask would make any normal person see the scene as especially comical…or grim. I haven't been a normal person in over a decade…give, or take.

My moment of thought was interrupted by a knock at my door. I thought about taking my feet down, there were actual Kriegers I had under my command here, and they might report such behavior to those on high, but at the moment I didn't really give a damn. My legs stayed propped and my hands firmly behind my head.

"Permission to enter," I stated loudly for the visitor to hear. The visitor entered and to my eternal surprise it was none other than Watchmaster B-63, basically my last remaining friend from alpha-company of the Baurin batch.

"My, oh my, don't we seem to be getting comfortable." He said jovially, no doubt a grin plastered to his face behind the mask. B-63 never seemed to have lost his sense of self during and after our training. If he wanted he could have been training men and women, instead he decided to stay a Watchmaster in the grenadiers.

Says a drill position wouldn't have been exciting enough for him. Leading basic korpsmen into battle wouldn't be as fun or memorable as leading grenadiers, who get all the fun assignments. I have no idea what is wrong with the man, I served with him when we both became grenadiers and I got out of it as soon as I hit my promotion.

Anyway, B-63 still has a sense of humor, something lost on most of us. I also happen to know he still has his name, most of us forget our names, and death is the penalty for remembering during training. He showed it to me once, scratched onto the inside of his helmet, which he treats almost as if it were a holy object. I'm not even sure he really knows what the marks mean, when I catch him looking into his helmet at them while we're together on the frontlines it's as if he's trying to decipher what it says.

He doesn't really remember, I know he doesn't, still he can't let it go and if it brings him comfort than so be it. Personally I can't recall mine, and I envy that I hadn't thought about doing what B-63 did…what Ruari was smart enough to do.

"You know me B-63, ever a ray of sunshine." I replied a slight edge of mirth in my tone. Not much mirth, never too much of anything really, I can't pull off genuine emotion too well anymore outside of my own head, it always come across as bland, or horrendously fake.

B-63 laughed heartily, the sound comforting to me despite being distorted through his mask. "And here I thought I was the only one who still had a sense of humor in this regiment." He paused, casting a glance at the data-slate on my desk. "Those the new recruits?" His tone contains a bit of excitement.

I gesture to the data-slate in a slightly over exaggerated flourish. B-63 takes to my invitation quickly and picks it up beginning to look through the profiles with an almost childlike curiosity. The taps of the stylus and creaks from my chair are the only sounds within my office for a few moments.

"So how did you even steal away the time to visit me? Aren't you and your boys supposed to be on clean-up right now?" I Asked breaking B-63 from his perusing. He peaked up over the data-slate and I was actually able to catch the gleam in his eye through the mask.

"Well, the higher-ups didn't want to waste grenadiers on something as lowly as purging a few running orks. So, me and the boys were slated for drills tonight, but I managed to get a request through for some R&R and the rest is as they said back home through the trees." B-63's jovial mood seemed to grow throughout his recollection. "Anyway, I decided to use my valuable time to come and visit you. Figured you could use some company…besides I thought you might have some of that Hoarfell swill stashed somewhere around here." He stated while looking around the room.

I figured there was no point hiding the fact; B-63 and I were friends. Besides anyone from Baurin wouldn't report me, we were all Korpsmen of the 82nd sure, and we would conduct ourselves with the strictest discipline whilst in battle…and most of the time out of battle. But, we were also all from Baurin, and on Baurin, when it was still around; consuming any type of alcoholic beverage in copious amounts was considered a cultural norm. Granted a norm which had to be toned down greatly for those of us conscripted into the 82nd, still every now and then doesn't hurt.

So I figured I'd indulge in a bit with my last dearest friend. I produced the bottle from my desk and placed it upon the desk, and then I produced two tin cups. B-63 sat down in the chair on the opposite side of my desk still looking through the picts. I poured us each a small measure of the 'Hoarfell Swill' as B-63 called it.

"I think these special circumstances call for a toast." I said no small measure of actual sarcasm in my voice. B-63 however, took it quite literally and raised his own tin, setting down the data-slate in the process.

"To the liberation and salvation of another planet by the brave remnants of Baurin and comrades," he stated, and then he lifted his mask up just enough to gulp down his drink.

"To the memory of our home," I replied also lifting my mask and drinking my liquor. I could practically hear B-63 grimace as he set his tin-cup down, the clank it made as it met the cheap desk followed closely by my own cup. About a second later I too was grimacing under my mask, as the taste finally seemed to hit.

"Ahhh, what in the warp, do they make this stuff from that fungus they grow on the _Ipsum_?" B-63 commented, a still a bit of mirth in his tone despite the pungent flavor of the drink.

"Yep, not much they don't make out of that fungus. Gotta admit it's impressive," I paused for a moment. "If not particularly appetizing, then again it's better than that slop that Danian Mess Sergeant makes."

B-63 laughed heartily at that. "Hey, I'll have you know that I very much like D-562's cooking. He makes the best field rations we've ever had and you know it."

"Yeah, but you have to admit that between deployments his culinary skills seem to take a sharp drop in quality." I said pouring myself a second measure. B-63 offered up his cup again and I poured a little more into it as well.

"Sure, still he more than makes up for it by keeping us well fed when we actually need to be. After all any army marches on its stomach, eh?" B-63 replied sipping from his cup.

"I guess so." I sip what's in my cup gingerly. The liquid burns all the way to the pit of my stomach, its pungent aftertaste lingers on my tongue far longer than I would have liked. Still, there's something to be said having a stiff drink with a friend, it transcends the unpleasant taste.

B-63 had returned to the files and was actually beginning to read a few of them. He was actually pretty good at assessing a troopers ultimate potential, you have to be when you're the Watchmaster of a grenadier squad. Being able to figure out who'll be good enough to replace the often short-lived grenadiers under his command has given him an eye for these things, not to mention B-63 used to be a hunter on Baurin before the fall. Helps him understand the animal side of people he claims.

"See anyone you like?" I asked casually. B-63 looked up from the data-slate for a moment, then back down. "Don't worry; I'll give you first pick of any potentials before the other grenadier Watchmasters." I stated reassuringly.

"Keep an eye on these two." He said suddenly, prompting me to look at the two profiles he had brought up. One a pale, lean looking man, brown hair cropped close to his head with the common Surrin green eye color. The other a woman, also green eyed, black hair, roundish face, also lean like most Surrins. Both were one designation apart, S-1049, and S-1050. They didn't look particularly special to me, but I didn't have B-63's 'gift' so I figured I'd humor him.

"Just look like new meat to me." I stated indifferently, "the man even looks like the type to crack if you ask me. Woman might make it through training, but she don't look like she'd be particularly adept at soldiering."

B-63 chuckled for a moment. "Ya know for someone who's risen up in the ranks to a command position I'm still amazed at how you can't grasp a troopers worth. Then again you were always better at understanding the flow of a battle then me, so there is that to compensate for it."

"Please do enlighten me then, because I honestly don't see too much worth in these two." I asked seriously. By this point the half empty cups of Hoarfell swill sat forgotten as I listened to B-63's opinions. He straightened up a bit trying to compose himself; the alcohol has loosened him up a bit, and maybe muddled his thoughts slightly.

"Oh, you know I can't do that. It's all instinct; the hunter in me is all. When I look at that guy." He points to the picture of S-1049, "I see a natural survivor, mark my words that boy may not be born for war, but he is born to survive. As for the other one, she just seems like the most determined candidate I've seen in your company. Out of the two I'd say she's the one who'll really grow into this." He paused for a moment looking contemplative.

"Anyway, if those two survive their first combat action then I want you to send them my way," he raises his cup to me the remains of the Hoarfell swill—I think they actually call it rungtin—sloshing around in it, a little even spilled over the edge from the motion. "Whaddaya say old buddy 'o mine?"

"Sure, I'll make sure you get 'em…if they survive their first action." I raise my cup in return and propose our final toast of the night. "To the new troopers of Echo Company, may they become steadfast Korpsmen of the 82nd and save more worlds from the Emperor's enemies?"

"Aye, that'll do," we struck our cups together making a resounding clink, lifted our masks, and downed what was left within them. So it goes…

**XXX**

_Drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, drip,_ it is raining, and on Surris the rain is always freezing, always on the verge of becoming hail the size of small rocks, but that doesn't matter. Jericus has counted the drops that plink on his helmet, each and every one, from the moment he was ordered to stand at attention, that was about five hours prior and by now his legs and everything else was so stiff and uncomfortable he was sure that he would fall over at any moment, and he desperately didn't want to do that.

His watchmaster wouldn't take too kindly to it, an eminently fair and brutally efficient mentor Watchmaster B-52 would kick him with heavy Korps issue boots to get him back on his feet, and if that failed it would be the lasbolt from his pistol that would make sure Jericus never got up again.

Right now Jericus has counted up to almost one million drops, and that number just keeps going up. Meanwhile Watchmaster B-52 paces along the lines of conscripts, scrutinizing posture, state of dress, and any multitude of small details which he could use as excuse to enact discipline.

_Drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, _at this point Jericus has lost count and is sure that his arms and legs have locked up, and that this is the only reason he is still standing. He tries to glance to his left to view the familiar mask that is always there, but his gasmask obscures his peripheral vision, and he doesn't dare turn his head for a better look, no matter how much he wants to make sure she is all right.

Though he has no idea why he would need to, the woman to his left, Fenria, has practically been the exemplary trainee of the conscripts from Surris, just about everything comes naturally to her, and despite some initial issues with adjusting just as all the conscripts had she has become one of the top trainees in their company. Jericus could only hold the fact that he was top in close quarters combat, and then only just barely, though none wanted to spar with him anymore due to his tendency to break limbs, and exploit various 'sensitive' parts of the body to his advantage. It had gotten to the point where only experienced Korpsmen were allowed to spar, or drill with him, and this was the one thing for which he was praised.

He was adequate at most other aspects of their training, but still Fenria and others like her were leaps and bounds ahead of him in their training.

_Drip, drip, drip, drip,_ his renewed count currently had him at eighty drops… scratch that, make it ninety.

"At ease," Watchmaster B-52 stated loudly for all assembled to hear, the resounding uniform clatter of multitudes of boots filled the air. "The next time any of you decide not to give your training one-hundred and ten percent I'll have you all out here until the break of dawn, and then begin that days training without breakfast, fall out you wretches."

He didn't ask if he made himself clear, Jericus noted that ever since Watchmaster B-52 put a lasbolt through a trainee's head on the first day that he never asked if he made himself clear. It was obvious, he was, or he wasn't, and if he wasn't clear to your foggy head then you wouldn't be around long enough for him to become so. Ever since he had been conscripted Jericus' life had become a checklist, get up in the morning and eat breakfast through a straw, check, assemble for the days training and work with the others in his platoon to get into numerical order in less than one minute, check. Begin the day with a five mile run in full combat gear, check, it went on and one and on into oblivion, just like the _plinks_ made by falling rain drops on his helmet.

This check list was superseded by a set of non-negotiable rules to follow while he conducted himself for the duration of his training… and most likely the rest of his life. Never refer to yourself in the first person, if you do you'll most likely be summarily executed, always do what you're told, if you fail refer to the consequence of breaking rule one. There are many more rules Jericus did not wish to recollect at this moment in time, right now he was focused on getting to his bunk so that he could recover his energy for tomorrow.

He had to wonder what he had done to deserve this, when the Imperial Guard had sent out the notices for the conscription he figured he would have a hard time of it, after all he was just a simple line worker. He never figured he'd fight for the Emperor, keck the PDF had turned him down when his father had made him apply, yet the 82nd Korps had specifically chosen him via psych evaluations and various other criteria out of billions of other candidates from Surris. He just didn't understand.

But, then again he didn't need to, his life had become a checklist and to excel all he had to do was follow it to the letter. Jericus felt someone nudge him in the side, turning he took in the sight of the only comrade he could actually call a friend, Fenria Ishta, or S-1050-82-Echo, S-1050 for short.

"Are you alright S-1049," she asked lowly, they weren't really supposed to talk outside of communication during drills and training. But Fenria and Jericus had a deep connection forged at the very beginning of the trials of their training, and so they would take these chances to make sure the other was doing well and help when need be.

"This trooper is fine, it is just tired, you would think that after six weeks of this the others wouldn't give the Watchmaster reason to take disciplinary action," Jericus gave a long sigh and continued to trudge onward to his destination, he was beyond tired and though he knew he should he wasn't going to get something to eat from the mess.

"This trooper understands the sentiment, are you going to mess," Fenria questions, Jericus takes note that though she must be exhausted she makes no outward sign of it, then again he muses that maybe she just isn't.

"No, it's rack time for this one," he replies.

Fenria tilts her head, imploring him. "You should eat S-1049, these troopers always need their full strength for training, and it's not wise to skip out on meals. How do you expect to keep your title as CQC champ on an empty stomach, you know CQC drills and sparing are scheduled for tomorrow," she admonished.

Jericus wondered why they always looked out for each other, though Fenria hardly needed looking out for, it was really the other way around, so many times he would have been dead before now had it not been for her and he knew there would surely be more of those times in the future. However, today Jericus was in the mood to defy fate... and her.

"This trooper will manage, go get something for yourself, this trooper will see you in the barracks, don't worry about it, it will be okay," he replied not unkindly.

Knowing that he was too stubborn to budge on the issue Fenria gave him a simple nod and departed in the opposite direction toward the mess hall, with the rest of the other trainees. Jericus counted his footsteps and the soft _crumps _they made as he walked across the frosted ground, the rain had stopped, frozen on the ground causing the tough plains grass of Surris to become brittle. Jericus noticed a herd of shemlings as they walked across his path; the small vermin were abundant on Surris and had a tendency to die en-masse during their migratory patterns.

_"That's what we all are now, just shemlings following each other to their ends,"_ he thought as he finally arrived at the entrance to the barracks. Entering them he noticed that he was the only one in the building, the other trainees having been smart and gone to eat whatever horrible nutrient paste and protein bars the mess sergeant deigned to feed them that day. Walking down the silent rows of bunks Jericus came to stand beside his own, he went about depositing his uniform within the footlocker allowed to him to keep his meager possessions, all supplied by the 82nd of course.

He stripped off his great coat, which doubled as his flak armour as well as his boots, belt, suspenders, and lastly his helmet. Everything else was left where it was on his person, fatigues, socks, and last but not least the korps issue gasmask he and every other trainee was required to wear nearly at all times. He finally lay back on his bunk, springs creaking in protest at his weight, and let loose a tired sigh releasing the weight of the day and mentally preparing for the next.

His eyes closed of their own accord and he fell into slumber, only to be awoken by a gentle prod to his left ribs what seemed to be minutes later. Groggily Jericus peered to his left, and gazed upon the all too familiar form of Fenria, he also noticed that she was down dressed as well, it must be late in the night, looking at the other occupied bunks confirmed this.

Once she saw that she had gained his attention Fenria reached into her pant pocket, withdrew two protein bars, and held them out to him. His eyes widened behind his mask, they weren't allowed food outside of mess and for her to even have gotten extra would have been against regulations... and punishable at the mercy of Watchmaster B-52, in other words not good.

"What are you doing? You know how much trouble you could get in for this," Jericus responded in a hushed tone, his worry evident.

"S-1049, this trooper knows regs, but you have to eat," she said quietly as she pushed the bars into his hand. "Eat them now and the Watchmaster will never know."

Jericus sighed looking back and forth from her mask clad face to the protein bars in his grasp, her worry for him was obvious in her posture, and after months of living with people who always wore a mask you begin to pick up on body language. And Fenria's spoke volumes about her concern. Without saying a word Jericus smuggled a bar under his mask, careful not to let any crumbs fall, and quickly devoured the bland tasting meal, he then proceeded to choke down the second one disposing of any evidence that contraband had been in the barracks.

"Thanks," he replied as he lay back in his bunk. Fenria had taken a huge risk to do that for him, and though it may have been unwanted for the danger she put herself in the least he could do was voice his appreciation. After all she was right, he would need food in him for tomorrow, and he had been stupid to even pass up mess to begin with. He watched as she got into her own bunk next to his, a mere three feet separating them.

Once Fenria had finally settled down Jericus felt more than heard the familiar quiet that descended on the barracks late at night, save for the howling winds outside.

"S-1049," Fenria said, letting his designation float in the empty air for a moment. "You remember it right?"

"Of course S-1050, always," Jericus' reply was instantaneous, as it always was when it came to this particular question. Her voice always spoke to fear and unparalleled worry when she asked that question, and he always wanted to allay that fear as soon as was humanly possible, because that same dread always prompted his own quiet barely audible question for her.

"Do you?" He would question back.

And she would unfailingly respond the same as he, "Always, S-1049."

Yes Jericus' life had become a checklist, wake up, look out for his only friend, check, get through training for the day, check, confirm that he did indeed remember the name entrusted to him, check. Ask if she remembered his name for him… Emperor he hoped she wasn't lying… check.

**XXX**

The next days CQC drills and sparing went as would be expected, Jericus had found a talent for it, currently wielding his sparring knife point toward his opponent and waiting for an opening. Training in the Korps taught that they were better off being the aggressor when it came to knife fights, but Jericus had always found his reactions to be much quicker than his actions.

Watchmaster B-52 had expected him to be one of the lower ranking conscripts in this facet of their training because of this, and yet to everyone's surprise the average height, lean built S-1049 had become the best CQC fighter in Echo Company. At first it had been thought that it was a fluke, he had beaten S-1001 who was quite a bit bigger and burlier than he was, but after having done so to many other consistently the Watchmaster knew it was no fluke. For the life of him though he still couldn't figure out why Jericus was as good at it as he became.

The two were circling one another for a solid minute Jericus' opponent knew that to strike first would be his undoing, so he was waiting for Jericus to make the first move. But Jericus was equally as patient, and if he was going to make the first move than he would do so when the advantage was his. Finally his opponent threw caution to the wind and tried a straight rush aimed to gut Jericus with a thrust up into his stomach. Contrary to what most would think this sort of move would effectively take anyone by surprise and usually result in a kill as the Korps had taught, and such was usually the case.

However, Jericus had experience with this move and made a dive to the left and behind his opponent, staying clear of his knife hand. Recovering quickly he rounded and leapt after his now off-balanced comrade landing right behind him, he kicked the back of his knee forcing him down grabbed his knife hand, and then thrust his own training knife into where his kidney would be, a fatal hit. Though he didn't stop there, he thrust several more times, working his way from the lower body, to the ribs, and ending with what would have been a blade through the windpipe.

"Trooper S-1049 is the victor, next up," Watchmaster B-52 called the bout and Jericus let his opponent stand, the two nodded in respect for each other and his opponent to take his place in the surrounding groups of trainees. Jericus was glad that Fenria had snuck him that food last night, it had certainly helped he couldn't deny that. Standing there he waited for his next challenger, it was standard practice to keep going until you lost, and Jericus seldom did.

"Trooper I have a special surprise for you today, seems your peers aren't enough for you, so I've decided to bring in a more experienced hand. I'm sure you remember K-556," the veteran Korpsman stepped up through the crowd to the edge of the ring training knife in hand. Jericus sure did remember the man; he had been the first to have been taken to the ground by him on their first day of CQC training. Now he was eager to test the skills he had been cultivating against him to see if he was finally better.

"You may begin," B-52 stated clearly. K-556 wasted no time in evaluating his opponent, in true Death Korps style he became the aggressor, his movement precise, purposeful, and incredibly fast. Jericus found himself keeping up with him though, the two traded blows and parried lethal thrusts and slashes, it was full contact, punches pushes, and holds were all permitted in the fight.

Jericus blocked an elbow only to have to lock K-556's knife arm to prevent getting stabbed in the chest, then he threw out a knee to K-556's groin. The Krieg vet blocked it though before it made contact, Jericus used this moment of distraction to push K-556 back and gain distance. Stumbling from the sudden force K-556 was quick to recover, but not before taking a fierce front-kick to the solar-plexus courtesy of Jericus, payback for their first fight.

Winded the Krieg vet still attempted to stay guarded, but Jericus having none of that simply rushed him, batting his knife hand away and stabbing up into his stomach over and over again, capitalizing on the man being breathless and hitting the vulnerable point a few more times. Finally Jericus pushed K-556 away again and the man landed smack on his own butt, simply sitting there to stare up and the trainee who he had bested not a month prior within moments.

"Trooper S-1049 is the victor, excellent job that is some dramatic improvement trooper. Both of you clear the ring, next two up," the Watchmaster called out. Jericus offered his hand to K-556, who still a bit winded took it and allowed himself to be pulled up. Finally standing the Krieg veteran gave a nod of respect to Jericus before the two made their way out of the dirt ring to let the next two trainees go at it.

**A/N: I felt like trying something in the WH40k verse, I'm going for something a bit different. Experimenting if you will, I plan on this story being somewhat non-linear, a style of writing I in general don't particularly like and rarely seem to see others recieve well, but I want to give it a crack. Can't improve unless you utterly fail am I right? Please R&R**

**300-709.**


	2. The Mask Goes On

**Disclaimer- I don't own Warhammer 40k or any works therein.**

"_**Madness is rare in individuals, but in groups, parties, nations and ages it is the rule."- Friedrich Nietzsche**_

Surris was a quiet world; Jericus used to work in one of the many manufactorums dotting its surface, but that all changed when the Orks came. Many had thought the Emperor had forsaken them, and in the face of the horde few would disagree. Then the Imperial Guard appeared like a sledgehammer and crushed the Orks beneath their sheer numbers and tenacity. The war had gone on for over a six months and was one of the most successful campaigns in the name of the Imperium ever undertaken; at least that is what the pict-casts would have everyone believe.

Being an upstanding Imperial citizen Jericus along with many others of his home-world were given the honor of being recruited into the Imperial Guard to replenish those who had given their lives to protect them from the enemies of the Emperor, though after having his home and family taken from him by the very artillery which was supposed to save them Jericus was not particularly happy with his fate.

He remembers going through a few tests, filling out a questionnaire to determine mental make-up, then a physical. Next thing he knows he's lined up with hundreds of other Surris citizens, most of them he recognizes from the Glanis assembly lines. They stood before the 82nd Infantry Death Korps of Krieg. Strange looking men and women dressed in gray great coats, and gasmasks.

A few of them were in pairs of two—one with a data-slate and the other evaluating the candidates—began to mill through the lines asking questions of those assembled, Jericus could overhear only snatches of what was being asked, but at the end of it there were two responses the grim guardsmen asking the questions would give to the other carrying the slate _'pass'_ or _'inadequate'_. Those comments were met with dumbstruck silence seeing as none of the assembled Surrins really knew what the grim looking guardsmen were trying to accomplish.

Eventually a pair made it to him; he stood up straight, as he had been instructed, though he couldn't help the shiver that ran up his spine, it wasn't from the cold, being born on what amounts to an ice world will leave you quite resistant to the elements. No it was the mask the guardsman was wearing, it had some sort of scarred and pitted skull motif over it, and it seemed as though one was staring into an abyss instead of eyes, the rictus of death.

"Name," the guardsman asked.

"Jericus Quint," he replied.

"Former occupation," he further questioned.

"Line worker, Manufactorum Glanis,"

He couldn't tell for sure because of the mask, still it felt as though the man before him, or parody of a man, was staring into his very soul. It certainly felt as though he was looking into his eyes, though Jericus could hardly know for sure. There was a long pregnant silence between them; Jericus didn't even dare to breathe. Finally the guardsman broke it, but Jericus really rather he hadn't because what he said would change the humble line-worker's life forever.

"Pass," his gaze hadn't left Jericus' own, and he felt a shiver run down his spine again as the other guardsman beside the one who had passed him jotted something down on the slate. It was official; Jericus Quint had been conscripted into the 82nd Death Korps of Krieg. After they were all done with the questioning those who had been deemed _'inadequate'_ were allowed to leave. Then the Guardsman overseeing the whole affair—an officer—spoke to the few hundred conscripts left.

"My designation is Watchmaster B-52, you have all been evaluated and deemed acceptable to be trained and assimilated into the 82nd Infantry, Death Korps of Krieg. In a few moments you will be shipped out to our temporary training grounds on planet. That will be your home for the next three months of your wretched lives. There you will learn how to be Korpsmen," we left soon after. Transported to the outskirts of the city to their new home, they all shivered in the open-backed trucks used to shuttle them to the training grounds.

They were largely used to the frigid conditions of their home-world, but none had proper clothing, most of them having lost everything they had when they became refugees. Jericus numbly thought that they were lucky a keck wasn't upon them; otherwise they'd have been shredded to the bone in the open-backed trucks.

Once they got to the training grounds every man and woman was ushered into one of the converted warehouse buildings to be processed. There measurements were taken; they were stripped, cleaned, de-loused, shaved, and then finally given basic fatigues. From there they were led to the barracks where a nondescript korpsman went down the lines assigning each of them a bunk, finally they were allowed to go to sleep, told to be ready for the next day, up and early.

That first night no one talked, matter-of-fact, none of them had really more than mumbled since they had been picked up by the trucks and transported to the training grounds, packed together like cattle. In retrospect Jericus believes that had any of them known what was going to happen then no-one would have shut-up about it.

Even if he had been fully willing to give over his life to serve in the Imperial Guard he was sure it wouldn't have prepared him for the Korps; He didn't think any of them really were. The first day of training was like nothing Jericus had expected or had heard about of what life in the guard would be like. Watchmaster B-52 was assigned to their training and never once seemed to yell or scream; instead he always spoke in the same unnerving even tone, raising his voice as needed, never angry. Like the artificial voice of the magos that occasionally visited Glanis for production reviews, no emotion had ever entered his tone—other than, maybe guilt—and that was far more frightening than the angry shouting sergeant Jericus had pictured, it gave the Watchmaster an unhinged feel.

"You have all been given the honor to die in the service of the Emperor. A fate undeserved by this wretched lot; but I will make every attempt to form you all into unquestioning servants of his divine Imperium." His voice was muffled by the skulled facemask connected by a rubber hose to some kind of filtration unit, "I will not hide the facts from you. At some point, most likely in the near future you are all expected to die and to do so willingly in his service. Your sole purpose will be to kill his enemies and do whatever he may command of you. We have a saying in the 82nd… here is the test to tell if your mission is complete: if you're alive, it isn't."

With those inspirational words said every man and woman around Jericus including him was issued a mask, a uniform, and a number; once they were all dressed up so eerily similar that even their very families would be hard-pressed to tell them apart Watchmaster B-52 addressed the crowd again. "The number you have been given is now who you are. Forget your names for the person you once were is no more from this point forward; if you are to serve the Emperor then you have no need for a name. If addressed you will respond with 'this trooper' or your designated number; you will not under any circumstance refer to yourself as 'I' that is a privilege granted only to officers and N.C.O's. Any that do will be disciplined immediately and if any of you break this rule multiple times the onsite Watchmaster is within their rights to execute you." He scanned the tight block of men and women in-front of him for a moment as if taking in the uniformity of how they all looked in their new masks and uniforms, "Also none of you are to take off your mask and uniform with the exception of when you eat your meals and when you must groom and clean yourself. We train for hazardous environments, you will be required to live in those uniforms, possibly for weeks on end."

With those motivating words we began our training and on that day Jericus became Korpsman S-1049-82-Echo or S-1049 for short. Jericus learned quickly that Watchmaster B-52 wasn't in any way joking, or just trying to scare them. Several people either refused to accept the loss of their names, or simply slipped up and kept referring to themselves in the first person… they were all shot after their third transgression. From then on no one had an issue with keeping to his or her number, or referring to himself or herself as 'this trooper'.

Their first taste of Death Korps training came in the form of a ten mile run in full gear. Some fell behind and were 'motivated to catch up'; Jericus was one of those lagging behind the main group. After the man in dead last was shot everyone found the motivation to keep up and stay together. Jericus wanted to kill the men at the front who were setting the pace. "It is a Korpsman's duty to endure for the Emperor. You will all face many hardships and through them you must stand," Watchmaster B-52 stated as he ran alongside them. "If we must run to certain death for our comrades to get the chance for a killing blow then we do so gladly." Jericus kept wondering how he seemed to never get tired; he kept pace with them, which is impressive because Surris has a higher gravity than most worlds. By all logic the Watchmaster should have gotten tired long before any of the conscripts did, and the fact that he didn't was frightening.

By the end of it Jericus' legs felt like jelly and he—along with most of the others—was breathing raggedly. The mask made drawing air into their lungs difficult, and he felt so light-headed that he was sure he was moments from passing out. The Watchmaster didn't even look fazed by the run, it didn't help that the air was thin and very cold.

After the run they were lined up again this time in proper numerical order. As can be imagined it was utter chaos as each tried to figure out where to go. No one wanted to be in the wrong place as it was becoming all too clear what the punishment may entail. The process was made harder by the fact that they all practically looked the same, only the small designation numbers stenciled on their uniforms to distinguish each other. Once everyone was lined up and Watchmaster B-52 was satisfied the gathering stood in silence waiting for what would come next.

"It is a Korpsman's duty to stand before the Emperors enemies and to die in his service. You must never flinch; you _will_ not flinch even in the face of your own end. Embrace the fact that you will die for it will be your redemption in his eyes. To die in service as a Korpsman is to be a hero. And you will _all_ be heroes." He let that fact—and it was most certainly a fact in Jericus' mind—sink in for a moment. "To be a Korpsman is to owe the Emperor a great debt and that debt must be repaid."

At first they all balked at the idea (at least on the inside). But no one questioned it; the former civilians just silently listened and waited for whatever they would have to do next intent on following blindly, or else be killed. At the end of that first day they were taught their prayer. Watchmaster B-52 made them recite it several times that day and at the beginning of every day throughout the rest of their training. He would start and they would answer back, together, synchronized, that was important. They had to answer together, if they didn't there was some kind of reprimand issued (usually push-ups, or jumping jacks) and the process would start over.

Standing on the training grounds for a long time on that first day Jericus was relieved when finally they got it right.

"_Look to your battle gear and it will protect you."_ Watchmaster B-52 would start.

"**We guard it with our lives."** They would thunder back.

"_Your armour is your soul, and your soul's dedication it's armour."_

"**The soul of a warrior is the protector of humanity."**

"_Honour the craft of death."_

"**Only the Emperor is higher in our devotion."**

"_Honour the battle gear of the dead."_

"**We ask only to serve." **

That first day had been far from the hardest but it certainly set the precedent for what was to come. After their continued training for several more hours the conscripts were allowed to eat in the mess. Each and every one of them took their masks off as they entered the mess hall. Then they lined up to get their share of slop, and it was indeed slop. They all sat together in their own groups never mingling with the other Death Korps troopers around them, the ones who were not from Surris. It was strange they were the only ones with their masks off. The full-fledged korpsmen around them all kept their masks on their faces.

Unlike the newly conscripted Surrins they hardly talked to each other, almost as if they weren't aware of those around them. And they ate their meals by smuggling their food under their masks or drinking it through feeding tubes attached to them. One of the Surrins own tried to talk to one of them and the korpsman just stared at him until he went away. Jericus watched with both interest and unease; these parodies of human life are what they wanted him to become.

The next few days weren't welcome for everyone; sleeping in the mask was uncomfortable—when Watchmaster B-52 said they were to wear their uniforms at all times other than mess and performing personal hygiene he was serious—most felt as if they couldn't breathe. And the constant physical training was something that most of them weren't used to; throw in the droning speeches of B-52 on the subject of death and redemption and it was almost unbearable.

The only respite from all this was that they could be themselves in the mess-hall; they could be human again, have a face, if only for a precious few moments. On the fifth day they were once again lined up in numerical order outside in the training area as had become the norm. From there they were given the objective to complete an obstacle course. Through the hellish maze of barbwire and muddy pits the Surrin trainees finally came to the end. They were then split into two separate groups facing each other from across a small expanse of frigid muddy ground, exhausted, breathing heavily, and sweating profusely even with the cool temperature.

"A korpsman must be able to deal with any threat to the Imperium. Even if that threat is from within," B-52 spoke clearly to them. Then he told them to fight, one group against the other. No one wanted to incur his wrath so the instructions were carried out and they began to brawl. Jericus took on a man two heads taller than himself, S-993 if he was able to remember correctly. Managing to blindside him and drive him to the ground where he hammered him mercilessly with well directed fists.

They all knew that B-52 would expect nothing less; chivalry was thrown out the window as even the women found the men not pulling any punches and in return they didn't either; Jericus got kneed in the groin multiple times.

After what felt like an eternity B-52 called a stop to the brawl and the exhausted trainees were once again lined up. "It has come to my attention that certain actions of this group will endanger its training. As of now there will be no socialization during mess, you are to consume your food and nothing more. As per usual those found in violation will be disciplined."

They all stared in silence not one of them questioning the new order of things; even though he all knew this would drive him further from what he thought of as his humanity Jericus hadn't uttered a word of protest, no one else had either. It was only the end of the first week and they were already starting to become what the 82nd wanted. At the beginning of the second week the trainees were issued lasguns, no98 Lucius pattern standard of the Korps. As they were given these instruments of death they all took them reverently if out of fear or respect Jericus had never bothered to question.

"These lasguns are your primary defense against all of the Emperor's enemies. They are to be maintained and cared for with the utmost efficiency: for when you are no more and your soul is with him they will be given to those who take your place. The korps does not believe in waste. Now we shall begin basic operation and cleaning followed by close combat techniques." Watchmaster B-52 stated loud for all to hear.

Soon after they were taught to clean their lasguns while reciting the proper litanies and practiced until all could strip, clean, and reassemble the weapons in less than five minutes, this took about two days. The barracks were silent save for the clicking and clacking as the former manufactory workers disassembled, cleaned, and reassembled their weapons. Jericus found a good deal of peace while doing this particular practice—he thinks a lot of the others did too—mainly because it reminded him of the assembly line and felt routine, even normal. Surprisingly the Watchmaster was very pleased with their progress in this, apparently it was beyond expectations for new recruits to learn how to strip and clean their weapons as fast and as proficiently as they had.

Again Jericus likes to think that everyone did so well because it was something that made them feel normal. After all most of the trainees were manufactorum line-workers before the invasion and their recruitment. With that in mind the ability to assemble an object was second nature to most of them by this time in their lives; all they needed was instruction and they could get it done quickly enough.

The litanies became mantras and they all repeated them together.

"_Be still spirits, I do what I must, Forgive the intrusion, And give me your trust."_ As they strip their lasguns.

"_Let my hand wipe the Grime from your perfect form, May you purify with your bolts of light."_ As they clean their lasguns. And, _"Spirits of the machine, accept my pleas, and walk amidst the gun, and fire it true."_ As the lasguns are reassembled.

From there they got their first taste of close combat training about a day later, specifically bayonet drills, Death Korps style; the brawl just days prior was apparently just a 'team building' exercise. The real CQC training began when the Watchmaster summoned a number of Death Korps regulars, and had them lined up in-front of the trainees. They were all dressed the same as any other Korpsman, in full gear with their own lasguns shouldered at their sides.

"Fix bayonets," ordered the Watchmaster. Everyone complied, it was a lesson well learned on the first day; follow your orders, or there would be consequences. The regulars across from the trainees fixed the utilitarian knives to their weapons in perfect synchronized order, each doing so seemingly at the same time. Most of the trainees fumbled a little bit but all eventually had their bayonets attached securely in a fairly timely manner. 42 centimeters of mono-treated sword-bayonet now tipped off their weapons.

B-52 approached one of the trainees. "Korpsman S-1110 give me your weapon," he ordered. S-1110 complied and handed his lasgun over to the Watchmaster, an involuntary and understandable flinch emanated from him. After all he could have done something wrong and may be about to be reprimanded for it.

To his relief Watchmaster B-52 calmly walked away the lasgun held in his hands as though he knew it more intimately than any of them had known past lovers. "You will all learn first how to block an oncoming thrust. I shall show you an example and then each of you is to form lines and block your fellow korpsmen as they charge you. To be successful you must give no quarter, for you will be shown none."

B-52 then motioned for one of the regular's in-front of him to begin. The korpsman charged him full on and as he neared the Watchmaster his charging thrust was deflected to the side as B-52 executed a perfect swipe with the end of his own commandeered lasgun. After the korpsman recovered he gave a crisp salute to B-52 and was dismissed going back to where he was previously standing. The Watchmaster walked back to S-1110 and gave him back his lasgun.

The trainees were then ordered to form up in-front of the korpsmen summoned to act as their partners. Fully intending to block the oncoming charge Jericus nodded to the korpsman to let him know that he was ready, and without hesitation the korpsman charged, bayonet poised to go right through Jericus. As he was about to strike Jericus executed the maneuver Watchmaster B-52 had demonstrated and successfully deflected the deadly blade. However, the force the korpsman had put into the charge had taken him by surprise; he had no doubt that had he not blocked it he would have been skewered.

Jericus had his thoughts proven true as he heard a startled scream from his left. Soon all eyes fell upon the stunned form of one of their own impaled on the end of a korpsman's bayonet. Her expression of pain was lost behind the mask she wore and she clutched at the lasgun attached to the bayonet, which had been run through her chest. The korpsman methodically angled the blade upward, and then pulled it from his victim without so much as flinching, there was a barely audible _schlick_ sound as it came free of flesh. The woman dropped to her knees holding her wound, and then she fell fully to the ground curling in on herself, whilst desperately clutching her sternum.

Everyone seemed to stop what they were doing to look at the spectacle, one of their own lying on the ground whimpering, crimson leaking out from her wound darkening the unforgiving dirt of the training ground.

Watchmaster B-52 calmly walked over to her crumpled form his foot falls loud and making a _crumping_ sound as he strode across the permafrost, drawing his laspistol when he finally reached her. He put a lasbolt through her head and turned to address the rest of the trainees who were stunned to inaction. "Failure is not tolerated in the Korps. I expect none of you to hesitate under any circumstances; remember the enemy can come from within as well as without, let this be a lesson to you all; do not hesitate, for your enemies most certainly won't."

He walked away from the body and back to where he was viewing the practices. The body was left out among them as they all continued to train; only a few more of the trainees were fatally wounded during the practice. Most of them made it through the brutal lesson; those that would not hesitate. Jericus guessed that it was another method to the madness; the 82nd did not want those who would die on the battlefield because of their own reluctance to fight, so they would die on the training grounds.

From bayonet drills they moved into hand-to-hand, B-52 saw fit to have them face experts from the 82nd in one-on-one sparring after only a few brief demonstrations.

"Combat is a cruel teacher, many things you will only have the time to learn once. Everything else is learned from experience, and on the battlefield experience often means pain and the death of those around you. The Korps needs you to endure to keep serving the Emperor, for our wretched souls to be forgiven," spoke B-52 sagely.

Jericus was one of the first to go, up against a korpsman by the number of K-556, the korpsman was dressed in well kept, but battle scarred wargear, the most prominent feature being a diagonal scratch on his skull-mask running from left eye to right cheek. His stance and the way he carried himself suggested he knew exactly what he was doing and that he could easily kill any of the trainees about to spar with him if he so desired. There was quite a bit of nervous fidgeting at the prospect of fighting against this man.

Jericus' fight didn't last long which disappointed him greatly, mainly because he was fairly decent at boxing, best at the after club run by workers of the manufactorum. He threw a few punches to open up the fight, K-556 ducked under the second attempt and he jammed his knuckles into Jericus' unguarded solar plexus, knocking the wind from him. Refusing to kneel over to gasp for air probably saved Jericus from a knee to the face, instead he tried to stomp on the veteran's knees with his heavy Korps issue boots, breath returning in heaving fits. The veteran actually seemed a bit surprised… then again he was wearing a mask so how the keck could Jericus have really known. After Jericus missed his knees he tried to follow with an upper-cut, really throwing his hips into the blow, not that it made a difference.

It was at this time that K-556 decided to end the fight as he caught the upper-cut easily, twisted Jericus around into an arm-bar, and finally swept his legs out from under him bringing him down onto his stomach. Then he placed his knee on the shoulder and pulled Jericus' arm back, he could feel it ready to pop from the socket… muscles, bones, and tendons were screaming in protest and Jericus was still slightly gasping for breath along with new grunts of pain.

"Stop, trooper S-1049 is unable to continue and in a real combat-situation would most likely be dead at this moment," B-52 called out, seeing fit to grant a little mercy.

His shoulder would be sore for a few days following that first hand-to-hand session. He studied K-556 intently as the man fought the others, looking for how he could improve. Jericus figured that if he was stuck in the 82nd then he might as well learn all he could so that he could survive whatever might be in his future.

The man—if you could call him a man—moved with brutal efficiency, it was graceful in the way that his moves were lightning fast, yet straightforward and simple. Something effective that could be taught easily to new recruits, and make them deadly in a short amount of time, relatively speaking.

CQC training was surprisingly something Jericus would look forward to learning. Because not only he was fairly good at it, but also in an odd way it was something he could use to express himself. He found that it was particularly useful to express his anger with the Korps in a constructive way. During CQC Jericus could relieve the anger and loss felt for his family by trying his damndest to beat his sparing partner into pulp.

Plus he was trying to fight effectively in his own way, making adjustments to the Korps CQC techniques where he thought he could get away with it. Anything to make sure he wasn't some cookie-cutter version of everyone else; too bad Watchmaster B-52 was such a perceptive bastard. To say the least he didn't approve, but he didn't force the issue, which was surprising. Jericus liked to think it was because he was always improving.

During mess Jericus still had not gotten used to the sudden shift from the friendly conversations of days past to the sounds of sporks clinking against trays, and the slurp made by feeding tubes. Worse still the trainees all seemingly ignored one another as they had been ordered; again the training was taking something from them. Later that night as Jericus lay awake in his bunk mask still on—seeming to become a part of his face more and more by the passing of each day—he heard the sound of rustling sheets. It came from the left and he turned his head to see the masked face of one of his comrades looking at him.

"Why are they doing this to us?" she asked with more dread in her voice than he had heard from any when the Orks had descended upon their world. For a moment he was speechless, the question was one he had been trying to answer ever since he had been given the 'honor' of being conscripted into the 82nd. Continuing to stare at the blank lenses of her mask through his own an answer formed upon his lips. "I don't know."

"Fenria Ishta," she said back her voice just barely a whisper almost as if she was afraid the mere mention would take the words away with it.

"What?" he questioned back.

"That's my name… was my name. I need someone to remember it for me… will you?" She paused for a moment, "Please, I don't just want to be some number, I don't want to just be S-1050."

"Jericus Quint," he turned his head toward the ceiling for a moment then back to her. She nodded once and the duo didn't need to speak any further because they both had an understanding. They would remember each others name because deep down both knew that by the end of this only S-1049 and S-1050 would remain. And if they could not keep their own names then they would keep each others.

Jericus slept a little more soundly that night. However, it was not to last as morning flew toward him with utmost speed and purpose. As per usual they were awoken by the watchmaster's loud but monotone voice. After morning inspection they were again off to training, lined up in numerical order as had become the norm. They began with live fire training crawling face down in freezing mud as lasfire and hard-rounds whirred by overhead. For some it was too much, maybe it was the claustrophobia of the masks combined with the mud which, seemed to get into everything.

Those that had lost it stood up only to be put down by continuous stream of weapons fire. They were left where they fell, and all the while the Watchmaster B-52 was droning on. "You must become accustomed to death. For on the battlefield it will be the only constant companion you will have. You fight for those who have fallen and in the hope that you may join them at the Emperor's side."

Jericus remembers the pliable earth making sucking noises as he crawled across the long expanse under barbed wire into, and out of craters and over hard unforgiving debris of rock. His body ached from the strenuous activity, but less so due to the repetition of his extreme exercises day after day. He remembers the man to his right muttering to himself.

"I shouldn't be here, this can't be happening, I can't do this." His voice quivered and became near hysterical as they neared the mid-point of the course. He kept repeating these phrases over and over again like a mantra.

Bright red lasfire and hard-rounds laced the air a mere foot-and-a-half over them and he was beginning to worry Jericus. To be honest he found it a surprise the man cracked this far into the training, by this point nobody referred to himself or herself in the first person, not out loud at least.

"Hey," Jericus shouted over the din of weapons fire. "Just calm down, these troopers are halfway there, you'll be fine." His response must have been lost to the man, drowned out by the noise. He stood up; S-1050 was to Jericus' left, she watched frozen like him as first their comrade's head seemingly evaporated in a curtain of red, then as the rest of him was taken apart one piece at a time… they got covered in what was left of him. It was only after that when Jericus realized that as soon as he had stood up that the Korpsmen manning the guns had converged weapon fire on him.

His burnt corpse dropped on-top of Jericus, right arm draped across his back, just as his father used to lay his arm across Jericus' shoulders when he was proud of him. He lay there frozen for a few moments, deaf to the world. He had seen the brutality of the orks and this man was not the first Jericus had seen die during training. It was just that he was so close and… all over the place, and on top of him, what was left of him anyway.

The scene gave Jericus pause, made everything around him mute, this is what will happen on the battlefield, this is what death looks like up-close, this or something much worse could—and most likely would—happen to him in the near future.

"S-1049! S-1049! Jericus!" S-1050's voice pulled him back from his stupor and he looked her way, "come on, these troopers can't stay here long, they have to keep going. To the end," her referencing to them in the third-person seemed second nature. Just like it was to Jericus himself by that point in time.

He nodded dumbly and started to crawl forward again, feeling his former comrades arm slide from his back as he went forward. S-1050, Fenria stayed with him the whole way… to the end.

Once they had finished it was time for practice at the range and then battle formations. They were all pushed until they could hit the target at least eight and a half out of ten times; the korps did not like waste. "Each shot missed is one that could have ended the life of one of the Emperor's enemies." Watchmaster B-52 droned on as he paced about behind them occasionally stopping to make sure they were each using proper form.

Fenria and Jericus were paired together as was everyone else, assigned to be each others battle buddy. They took turns practicing, while one of them shot at the target the other would verify accuracy. On his first practice Jericus had hit the target at 100 meters out about 70% of the time, Fenria hit the target 88% of the time. That first session was filled with dread for Jericus; it was already known that Watchmaster B-52 didn't like incompetence. He got off with minor scorn, Fenria got a bit of praise, which is if you could call a nod from Watchmaster B-52 while looking at the accuracy report Jericus had made praise.

Training for conditions of treason was something not easily forgotten as some revelation concerning the 82nd's training methods came into light. They were practicing proper bayonet thrust and attack techniques on dummy targets. Obviously treason conditions meant that these particular dummies were dressed up as their own.

"Remember the enemy comes from within as well as without," Watchmaster B-52 stated as they each thrust their bayonets into the dummies. It was becoming apparent to all that they were not to be comrades in arms; instead the korps merely wanted strangers who could work together without question and only mild concern for one another. That way if treachery did occur they would not hesitate to kill their own in the Emperors name.

Battle formations had them marching in full war gear, in perfect block shaped squares, footfalls resounding loudly. It was strangely rhythmic; oddly they all seemed to have a knack for marching in formation. Something else Watchmaster B-52 was pleased with.

Jericus has no real explanation for this one, he didn't think being a manufactorum line-worker is really good preparation for marching in formation, but he guessed it was because according to B-52 they were 'satisfactory'.

The mess hall was again quiet save for the clinking of eating utensils and slurping of tubes. More disturbing still was that some of the trainees did not take their masks off, instead following the customs of the regular korpsmen around them. Eating their meals through the attachable tubes or smuggling the food under their masks. Jericus was afraid to think that he himself was tempted to join them, hide his face, and become part of the crowd. They were already all strangers really. None of them had probably known each other before being conscripted, or at least Jericus didn't know anyone.

However, he managed to take his mask off, and felt naked as a result. It was becoming strange to have his face bare to the world, the cold air colder, the light brighter, almost too much for him. He noticed a few looks his way as well as toward the others who had taken off their own masks. It would have been expected of Watchmaster B-52 who had been spending his time hovering around them during mess making sure no one engaged in conversation, or even somewhat from the 82nd regulars. But, it was thier own whose glares Jericus could practically feel through the all-obstructing masks. The feeling was disturbing to say the least, surely they understood wanting to keep ones identity in this tin-soldier factory.

That night Jericus again lay awake staring at the ceiling above him. "Why did they look at us like that? When we took our masks off," S-1050 asked her voice a quiet whisper to his left.

"I don't know. Makes it easier on them I guess, having the masks on." Jericus replied back his voice equally quiet, he was afraid to utter more words than he had to. He had begun to hardly notice the mask on his face the lenses no longer seemed to bother him as much. Their obstruction of his peripheral vision, which had at first caused discomfort, had begun to reassure him; his vision was narrowed to what lay in-front of him, making things comfortingly simple.

"Then should we leave them on?" She asked hesitantly turning toward him to face him once again. "During mess I mean?"

"Yeah, couldn't hurt right?"

"Right, couldn't hurt," she muttered.

Silence pervaded the dark space between the two, well aside from some snoring and the constant sound of air being pulled through filters. That still didn't change the stillness of the barracks, which was palpable and unnerving to say the least. Looking to either side showed a mirror image of bodies stretching into what seemed infinite inky blackness, all of them clad in masks and uniform. S-1050 was the only welcome sight to Jericus, and even she still had her mask on, it was like looking at a mirror image of himself.

The only difference was he had a name to place on this particular reflection… Fenria Ishta, and she had a name to place on him… whatever it might be. Already his recollection of his former life and identity was becoming foggy. The days seemed like weeks and blended together to the point where time seemed to stretch into oblivion.

"Do you still remember?" S-1050 questioned finally breaking the pregnant silence; she put emphasis on the last word hoping to get the message through without divulging too much. Jericus knew right away what she meant of course… her name. It came into his head unbidden and he was content to know that though his name may be foggy now, he could remember hers clearly.

"Yeah, do you still remember?" He asked, turning to look at her, their abysmal gazes meeting from across the small divide. She nodded and then turned to try and get some sleep perhaps hoping she would wake up and this would all be some kind of far away dream. At that point Jericus sure as keck was hoping that was indeed the case. Unfortunately like the recollection of his name that hope was also becoming fleeting and far away.

**XXX**

"_**We all wear masks, and the time comes when we cannot remove them without removing some of our own skin."- Andre Berthiaume**_

Another week passed, now the conscripts of Echo Company all marched in perfect rigid formation. No one ever stumbled. Mess had become a visage of mechanical beings all eating with masks on. Watchmaster B-52 was beginning to approve of their behavior outside of training. S-1050 and S-1049 still held secret and brief conversations at night; possibly the only reason they continued to make it through the monotonous training and indoctrination.

Still there were signs of humanity left within all the conscripts; they all still had that in-built human desire to live which is why all still flinched during close combat practice and the live fire exercises. Naturally B-52 constantly reprimanded such behavior. "You must not flinch in the presence of the enemies of the Imperium. Any form of hesitation is a failure to yourself and the korpsman beside you. You will face many horrors but by the end of your training you will be able to stand before them without pause. Our enemies may run at the first sign of doubt but we will persevere."

The watchmaster's short 'pep-talks' were slowly starting to make more sense to the conscripts each passing day. They were starting to become right, he and the other korpsmen were starting to become something to aspire to be. They kept on training, each one of them pushing to become unflinching servants of the Emperor. It was something strange, horrifying, and awe-inspiring all at once; the fact that simple manufactorum workers were being transformed into something greater and at the same time lesser than what they once were.

They were starting to become korpsmen and B-52 started to treat them accordingly. The training became stricter if not necessarily harder. Whereas before they might have been able to get away with a bit of a slouch or look a little disheveled now they would be severely disciplined. Marches had to be perfect, close combat techniques flawless, and proficiency with a lasgun impeccable. As the days continued to pass fewer of them flinched, the reflex of their primitive flight instinct banished from their thoughts.

Human tendencies were decreasing considerably; they could run on as little rest as possible, eat almost nothing, and remain fit and willing to do their duty if need be. It was remarkable in a way and frightening in many others. These facts did little to comfort S-1049 in his sleepless nights which were growing fewer and farther in-between. S-1050 and he still spoke to each other when they got the chance and were sure no one was listening.

"What did you do before all of this?" She questioned one night her voice quiet as always the background noises of snores and muffled breathing almost covering it up. But in the past few weeks they had both become used to interpreting the others whispered questions and answers, their hearing having grown sharper.

"Probably same as you, this trooper worked in a manufactorum assembly line crew; it wasn't anything special like an overseer. The pay was enough to help its family. It had to send about half to them so that they could keep their hab. But that was worth it."

"What happened to them?" She questioned back even though they both seemed to know the answer. The war had taken something from just about everyone and left none unscathed whether it was emotional scars or literal ones.

"Their hab-block was one of the ones that the imperial guard had to level with artillery. As far as this trooper knows none of them made it." S-1049 said his voice even quieter than usual then turning to face her, "What about you? Where did you work?"

"This trooper was a floor worker as well. When the Orks first attacked it and all the other workers were trapped in the manufactorum. The techpreists did it on purpose to protect the equipment, we were lucky that they did, or we would all have been killed outside." S-1050 paused, "My mother and father were so happy that this trooper's sister and it had made it through the war safely. But when the conscription order came and this trooper's name was called they both cried so hard… I'd never seen my father cry before."

The silence stretched for a while, nothing but the two individuals digesting what the other said. Turning again to her Jericus chose to break it, "This trooper is sorry S-1050." he heard a small barely audible sniff.

"It's okay at least these troopers have each other though. This trooper is glad it met you S-1049," she whispered back.

"Yeah, same here S-1050," he replied. The silence resumed for a brief few moments before Fenria again broke it.

"Hey, S-1049." She spoke softly.

"Yeah,"

"You remember it right?" She finished.

"Yeah, what about you," he questioned back waiting for the answer he knew was coming but at the same time needed to hear none the less.

"Yes, always S-1049." She replied in that perpetually soft voice.

In the moments afterward Jericus had realized something which had eluded him before. He had never seen her face; despite her always being to the left of him in formation and us sitting next to each other in mess after they began to talk. He found himself trying to recall what it may have looked like, but he kept drawing a blank, just like with his name.

He began to wonder if she had seen his own face. However, that thought was soon tossed aside for the simple fact was that he was unsure whether he'd want her to she his face anymore. The mask has been in-place for so long now that it feels as though it is his face. And if he were to ever take it off then he feared for what may no longer be under it, that man may be all but unrecognizable to him.

Even when they had to groom themselves the washrooms had no mirrors so that none of them could get a proper look at their own features. Slowly but surely Jericus had begun to forget his own face as sure as many of the others have. He took small comfort that at least S-1050 still had his name for him as he did hers. With that knowledge in his head it was easier to accept the fate he was dealt because at least he knew that Fenria would never forget.

The next few weeks were but a blur of training and mental conditioning as they were all fully molded into korpsmen. The last of the useless fat of their being scraped off of them as Watchmaster B-52 fulfilled his promises. They all owed a debt to the Emperor because they were Korpsmen and they were all glad and willing to fulfill it.

The twelfth week marked the end of our training and we were all given one day of leave before the troopers of the 82nd Death Korps of Krieg infantry, plus new conscripts were to be shipped off, never to see Surris again. It was surreal as Jericus and Fenria walked about the city which was still in the process of being rebuilt. However, some semblance of normalcy was starting to eek its way through the war ravaged buildings as the duo saw a few businesses open and a few entrepreneurs peddling their wares from street side stations. They were completely out of place with their greatcoats and the rest of what composed their uniforms, the masks as always were still on. None of the conscripts had taken them off even as they ventured forth back to their homes to say goodbye to loved ones, family, and friends if they had any left that is.

By the end of their twelve week training period the Surris conscripts were completely conditioned by the Korps to uphold their ideals and do as they were told without question. The process was painful as if gouging out ones own eye's on the mental and spiritual level, but an acceptable number of them had lived through the training and now were considered worthy of defending the world's of the Emperor.

S-1050 wanted to see her family before they had to leave. She had wanted Jericus to come along and meet them with her; he had gladly accepted the offer and had no qualms about accompanying her. Jericus couldn't think of a better way to spend his last day on his home world; after all he had no family to say goodbye to. As they walked through the streets they noticed other guardsmen on leave from different regiments. They were all new bloods like themselves given leave for their last day on their home world. They were not Death Korps though; instead they wore the flak armor of different guard regiments, each with different training and methodology. They had their faces bare to the world and it appeared that their training had taken nothing away from their personalities.

Fenria and Jericus were talking to each other about idle interests among other subjects when one of the other guardsmen stopped and walked up to them.

"Jericus is that you?" He asked peering into the lenses of my mask. At first S-1049 was a bit confused but then Fenria nudged him and his memory came back. Jericus… was his name. He nodded slowly as if unsure and then before he knew it he was trapped in a hug by the man across from him.

"Man I thought you were dead after the explosion during the evacuation. Hell I wouldn't have even known it was you if ya weren't talking to your friend." He paused looking as though he was contemplating something for a moment. "Hey what's with the mask anyway man?"

Jericus continued to stare at him blankly trying in vain to conjure up memories of this man who he had the nagging feeling he ought to remember. However, that was from his life before the training, the war, and the mask. He held Jericus at arms length for a moment as if trying to figure out if he actually was who he thought he was.

"You are Jericus Quint right?" he said taking a step back. Jericus nodded slowly and he still observed him with what seemed to be a slight amount of skepticism.

"It's me, Xavier, from the manufactorum, don't you remember? We worked on the same line. Hell we grew up together, best friends since five."

It took another moment but Jericus started to piece together the somewhat forgotten and shattered memories. "Xavier," he said although it sounded more like a question. Not to mention the name seemed foreign on his tongue. But that was more likely due to the fact that in the korps they all referred to each other by number. Xavier stood there for a moment before commenting, "Yeah, for Emperors sake I know guard training was tough but they really did a number on you man. By the way what regiment are you? I'm in the 121st Hoarfell myself."

Jericus processed the question for a moment before answering, "82nd Death Korps of Krieg." he replied in evenly. This seemed to unnerve Xavier and his comrades which had gathered behind him.

"I heard about the Death Korps. They have a pretty rough rep; is it true that you guys are calling each other by numbers instead of your names?" he said.

"Yes, this trooper is S-1049-82, or S-1049 for short." Jericus replied.

"Yeah, so anyway who's your friend Jericus?" Xavier questioned, no doubt trying to alleviate the unease spreading about the area like a dark cloud.

"S-1050," she answered smoothly in the same even tone Jericus had previously. Xavier and the others behind him seemed to get uncomfortable for a moment before he spoke up again.

"Well, it's been great seeing you again Jericus you want to get a drink maybe? It's on me." He said the last part sounding almost tacked on for sake of normalcy.

"That would be… good. However, these troopers are going to visit S-1050's family before they have to get back to the barracks and on the transport." he answered. Xavier seemed to be slightly relieved by this, though he tried not to let it show.

"Okay, well take care of yourself then man. Maybe we'll see each other again." He said before Fenria and Jericus departed from him and his group. As they walked away Jericus heard his friend whisper to those around him, "I knew Jericus since we were kids, and that wasn't the same guy I remember from our hab-block. What the hell does the Korps do to their recruits?"

The murmured responses were lost on him as he and Fenria continued on with her leading the way to her home, or at least the hab where her family had been assigned to live during the cleanup. Eventually the duo came upon a still fairly intact hab-block. Going down the winding halls and up the stairs of the hab-block was foreign. Jericus hadn't traversed halls such as these since before the invasion and liberation. Twelve weeks of training ground, mess, and barracks had again fogged up his memory of such a familiar sight.

Finally they came upon the proper hab number, the civilians outside gave them wary glances their masks probably appearing ominous or disturbing; or maybe some had bad feelings toward the Korps. After all they weren't the best received or liked of the regiments when the guard arrived to liberate Surris.

S-1050 went up to the entrance and gave three good knocks which echoed through the plasteel door. After a few moments a young girl opened the door; no older than about twelve she was understandably a little uneasy at seeing two masked figures standing in the doorway. Leaning down so that she was at eye level with the girl Fenria was the first to speak. "Sila it's me get mother and father."

Recognition flashed in the girl's eyes at the sound of Fenria's voice and in an instant the girl had thrown herself around the woman embracing her with ardent affection. Fenria seemed to hesitate for a moment before returning the gesture in a tentative manner almost as if unsure if she was doing it properly, for the past months any close physical contact usually meant a CQC fight. Soon another figure appeared from around a corner further from within the hab.

"Sila who's at the door," Questioned the figure before she was met with the sight before her. The scene in-front of the woman must have seemed a bit macabre with Fenria hugging the little one while Jericus stood in the background both of them in full gear with their expressionless masks. Fenria gently pushed Sila away before she stood up to her full height once more, "Mother." She said quietly with a respectful nod of her head.

"Fenria?" The woman asked with what seemed to be some doubt in her voice as she looked over the masked figure. Fenria for her part seemed as lost as Jericus was when his friend had spoken his name and it took his hand on her shoulder for her to snap out of her own confusion. She nodded hesitantly to her mother who like Sila before her was embracing S-1050 in a heartbeat.

"We didn't think we'd see you again before you shipped off world. Your father has been worried about you, we all have." Her mother said in a quiet voice barely holding back tears. She then finally took notice of Jericus standing idle outside the door looking at him as if noticing his presence for the first time. Given the emotional reunion it very well might have been the first she had noticed him. "Who's your friend?" she questioned.

Fenria motioned to him, and then took his arm pulling his hesitant form forward "This is S-1049. He and I trained together and are now in the same unit." She stated in an all business tone. Her mother gave him an inquisitive look taking in his appearance perhaps trying to discern the man under the mask.

"Well he's welcome in," she turned to her daughter again. "How about we go sit down, I'll make some recaff while we wait for your father to get home from the market."

She gestured for the two to sit down on the couch which both did sitting down backs straight with the perfect posture required by the Korps. Sila sat down next to them and began to inspect their uniforms particularly the masks. "Why are you wearing that Fen? It kinda scares me." She spoke her words softly her voice similar to Fenria's own.

Fenria was quiet for a while not quite able to tell her little sister why she couldn't show her face. What could she tell her? That she didn't believe she had one anymore. Or worse that she didn't want one anymore. Jericus felt as though that was the point of the training; make sure they didn't have a face so that they were all just another number. By the end of it once they had accepted that it just made everything easier to deal with.

After a few more quiet moments Jericus spoke for her, "The guard requires that these troopers leave them on at all times." He stated matter-of-factly. Sila frowned a bit at that and quietly diverted her gaze to her twiddling thumbs. The next few moments were silent and before long Fenria's mother came walking out with three steaming mugs. She gave one to Fenria and Jericus keeping one for herself and handing Sila some other most likely sweeter alternative.

The two Death Korps trooper used the inbuilt drinking tubes on their masks to drink the steaming recaff. Fenria's mother stiffened as they did this, "Fenria, why don't you take that horrid mask off honey?"

"Mister S-1049 says that they can't." Sila responded quickly.

"Oh, and why not," her mother questioned.

"It's against regulations ma'am." Jericus responded back quickly but politely in his even voice.

Fenria's mother seemed surprised by the very idea and the next few hours were rather awkward and went by about as fast as it takes paint to dry. Soon enough though Fenria's father was home and as he walked in he paused for a moment to put down the bags he had been carrying. As he looked at the two he seemed perplexed by the presence of two masked guardsmen in his home.

"I see we have guests." He said in a surprised tone as he eyed them both.

"Serghar, its Fenria and this is her friend," Fenria's mother said to the further surprise of her husband. His eyebrows shot up for a moment as he studied Fenria for a moment as she stood up and walked over to him. For the first time that evening she was the first to initiate the embrace and her father for his part took a moment before returning it with a great amount of affection. After the two separated Jericus realized the time that had passed and had to inform his friend lest she forget and they'd both get disciplined for their carelessness should they be late.

"S-1050 these troopers have to be getting back," he spoke softly but perhaps a bit bluntly. Fenria realized the consequences and didn't dally.

"S-1049 is right; we have to be getting back. We're going to be boarding the transports to the main ship and we have to be there or else the Watchmaster will not be pleased." She stated. Her family all gave her odd looks their faces filled with sadness and grief at the thought that they were never going to see her again.

Her mother stepped forward, "May the Emperor protect you Fenria." She said as she took her daughter in one final embrace. Her Father and sister followed her example both giving their goodbyes. Fenria and Jericus headed for the door, she walked through first and as he turned to shut the door behind them he noticed the anguished look of her family as they looked past him at her. He understood what they were feeling and thinking in that moment. The girl that was walking out the door never to return wasn't the same little girl they had raised, or the same older sister of Sila.

Instead she was just a mask, a husk of her former self; however, that was the way it had to be. He didn't blame them for not understanding, but it was for the best because the things S-1050 would have to face would be terrible indeed. And to be able to stare back at those coming monstrosities she would have to become one herself.

As they went Jericus heard the patter of bare feet on rockcrete, and then a small hand clasping his own; the sensation was odd, and slightly startling. Turning he saw the tear stained face of Fenria's sister looking up at him; almost as though she could see through the depthless lenses and all obscuring material of the gasmask.

"You'll keep her safe? Right Mister S-1049," her eyes stopped him, her face so much like her mothers. Could this be a face similar to the one under S-1050's mask? However, the thought was fleeting as he knelt down to the girl's level. "This trooper will do it's utmost to keep your sister safe Sila Ishta."

The little one nodded once, just once. The tears still fell, but her face was stoic and as unreadable as the masks they wore. He stood up and she let go of his hand nodding up to him as she did so. Jericus nodded back before finally turning to see Fenria staring at the scene, hands to her sides slightly clench. She was desperately trying to keep her composure. He nodded once to her, barely perceptible to the eye. She took the meaning and they both departed for the ships.

**First two chapters are out, kindly R&R if you please, I'll see you next week.**

**300-709.**


	3. To the Beat of the Drum

"_**The individual has always had to struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the group. If you try it, you will be lonely often, and sometimes frightened. But no price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself."- Friedrich Nietzsche**_

Time aboard the _Nosce Te Ipsum_ consisted of sleeping, eating, and combat drills. The Surris conscripts all had been prepared for warp travel in advance; or at least Watchmaster B-52 had tried. However, the cases of warp sickness among them were relatively low, and after hearing a bit of rumor Jericus had found that most of the conscripts from Surris even in the other regiments were doing fairly well for first time warp travelers. Quarters were scarce so in order to conserve space all the regiments put two of their troops to a cabin instead of one.

The cabins themselves were only large enough to hold a bunk along with a few storage compartments. But it wasn't all so bad Jericus reflected as he and Fenria had been paired together to share a room and within its confines they were free to speak. They still never spoke any louder than a whisper but the full conversations were nice and the duo enjoyed them immensely. Jericus slept on the floor while she took the solitary bunk in the small cabin, Jericus actually preferred the floor finding it more comfortable than the bunk, while Fenria felt the opposite.

During mess the Korps stuck together and the other non-Korps regiments stuck to their own. Jericus had even seen Xavier a few times or thought he did through occasional glances from across the huge mess area. The three guard regiments seemed to keep to themselves, but the 82nd seemed to be the black sheep of the family as it were. The two regiments other than the 82nd where the 121st Hoarfell Rangers and 145th Randon drop troopers (aka the Randon Splats, in reference to how they usually ended up) both of which equally avoided the 82nd. They jovially chatted with one another and enjoyed the full use of their allowed recreation time while steering clear of the heavily regimented Death Korps troopers. It was as if the Korps had a disease they were afraid of catching.

Jericus had heard the occasional comment of Korpsmen all being clockwork soldiers or that they were forcibly lobotomized. In truth it would be far better if these rumors were true; but the cold hard fact remains that anyone in the Korps had given up their hopes, dreams, and the training did its best to scour their emotions as well. The person was replaced with a husk that follow orders to the letter and with the new dream of dying to repay the Emperor for some debt which Jericus and the other Surris conscripts never really owed or fully understood.

One cycle as he was walking down one of the many corridors of the _Nosce Te Ipsem_ alone Jericus found himself cornered by three guardsmen all from the Randon 145th.

They wore distinctive red pattern flak-armor and matching uniforms, during his short time on the _Ipsum_ hearing about them through rumor he had learned that most of the troopers in the 145th Randon were apparently unhinged; then again he supposed you have to be to willingly leap from a perfectly good valkyrie.

The apparent leader came up to Jericus slowly, "So where you headed to blank." The last word rolled off his tongue like it was some vile taste. 'Blank' was a common derogatory term used for Korpsmen by the other regiments. It caught on because of the stoic nature and the masks, the Randon trooper took a step closer, "Well?"

"This trooper is on its way to a marching drill." Jericus replied coldly to the Randon's slight amusement.

"See I told you guys these blanks were all stiffs, look at him with that mask, not much more than a servitor. And this is one of the new ones, ya can tell by the first letter in the designation, S for Surris, that rock we just liberated, am I right blank," He jeered no doubt trying to get a rise out of Jericus.

In an attempt to avoid what seemed to be inevitable conflict Jericus started to walk past him before the Randon trooper put his hand up to block his path of escape. "Hey where do you think you're going blank? We need you to do something for us first," he paused then gestured to his cohorts. "Me and the boys here are curious about what's under those masks. You know see if there's a person under there, and you being one of the new-bloods of the 82nd you ought to be more inclined to actually go through with it; now take it off."

At those last three words a slight feeling of panic trickled into Jericus' mind. He couldn't take the mask off! Whatever was under it… it just wasn't there anymore and they didn't understand that. His hesitation annoyed the leader and the trooper angrily tried to grab hold of the mask. That's what triggered Jericus' honed reflexes and the training took over. He was scarcely aware of what he was doing and before he became aware of what happened the leader of the group was beneath him as he delivered blow after blow into the man's steadily worsening face.

His attempts to fight back were ignored as Jericus continued with the brutal assault just as he had trained to do. The other two stood there and watched as their friend was beaten senseless by one of the 'blanks'. If Jericus bothered to listen though he would hear that the other Randon troopers were actually cheering, and whooping in excitement over the fight, even though their friend was losing. Unhinged indeed, the point was driven home as they got louder when blood sprayed from their friend's nose.

"What's going on here?" a sharp voice snapped. It was distinct enough and held authority. Jericus' training kicked in again as he abandoned his single-minded ruthless onslaught and stood at attention giving a crisp salute to the Hoarfell sergeant now in the groups presence, the Randon troopers instantly followed suit. "Well?" he asked again looking at the two confused looking Randon, their leader spitting out blood, and then finally toward Jericus himself.

"Sir, it is this trooper's duty to inform you that there was an altercation." Jericus stated in as evenly as he could. The sergeant looked almost bemusedly at the form of the guardsman trying to get up with his bloodied face and even a missing tooth.

"I can see that. But my question is what the cause was?" This time the man whom Jericus had beaten spoke still nursing his jaw, "We were just trying to see the blanks face sir, and then he just went berserk! Hell of a fight, though I wish I could 'a gotten one in on him," The sergeant turned to Jericus, "What's your side of it." He asked.

"Sir, this trooper was defending against presumed hostile action committed against it sir." he stated evenly in response. The sergeant looked at him with what seemed to be understanding and seemed to sigh in exasperation.

"I'll tell you boys what. I'm gonna let this slide, after all I understand that tension is high and that warp travel can do funny things to the mind and body. Plus I don't think any of you want me to bring a commissar in on this, and neither do I for that matter. We savvy?" The sergeant asked, the last part a subtle plea for peace. The three Randon guardsmen muttered a lowly 'yes sir' and then the sergeant turned to Jericus with a pointed look.

"What about you son, I know the Korps is big on protocol but what do ya say we just let this one go." He said spreading his arms.

"Sir, as far as this trooper is concerned it was on its way to a marching drill." Jericus stated matter-of-factly, he didn't want to be reported to Watchmaster B-52. The sergeant nodded with what seemed like a bit of disbelief and relief at the prospect, Korpsmen were known to be very by-the-book about such matters, even the conscripts from other worlds the 82nd trained, the so called 'second generations' were prone to such behaviour.

"Good to hear guardsman," he paused for a moment. "Say, what's your name?"

"This trooper's designation is S-1049-Echo of the 82nd Death Korps Infantry sir." Jericus stated clearly, the sergeant's brow furrowed as he heard the statement.

"No, son I meant your real name, you're one of the Surris conscripts right," he said reforming the question. Posture stiffening noticeably Jericus couldn't hide the involuntary shutter that ran through his body; this did not change his response.

"This trooper's designation is S-1049 sir," he said yet again this time with a hint of hesitation in his voice. There seemed to be a hint of sadness in the sergeant's eyes at that.

"Right," he sighed waving the others away; they went gladly; however, Jericus stood waiting, as was his duty, it took the sergeant a moment before he realized what for.

"You are dismissed guardsman." He stated. As the words left his mouth Jericus saluted, turned on his heel smartly, and continued to where he had been headed before.

The marching drills felt familiar and the monotony of them helped to drown out Jericus' feelings of earlier. The slight hesitation I had in the statement of his number, the way he was trying to remember 'it'. Doing exactly what he wasn't supposed to do, your designation is your name in the Korps, he knew that and yet still got upset by the fact.

After the drills had ended the conscripts of Echo Company were once again within the mess-hall eating silently. Jericus heard the regulars talking about them. Whispers about how some blank managed to beat the frak out of three Randon troopers, apparently an uncommon occurrence of violence. It was a bit of an exaggeration, after all Jericus reflected that he had only taken on the leader of the three, but that was how the rumour mill worked.

As he mulled the situation over during lights out while trying to fall asleep Fenria had noticed his unease. He saw her masked face peak over the edge of the bunk to look down on him where he lay on the floor. "S-1049 what's wrong?" her voice still held that softness even though the emotion had been sapped away.

"This trooper couldn't remember." He said simply. Fenria instantly knew what he was referring to and with that voice tried to allay her friend's troubles.

"It's okay, that's why these troopers have each other." She paused, "You remember this troopers name right?" Jericus nodded slowly seeing the slight shift in her body language as she relaxed at the thought.

"What about you, do remember mine?" His question inevitably parroted hers, seeking the same reassurance.

"Always S-1049," she stated simply. The silence stretched on for a while before Jericus gave voice to something which had vexed him for quite a while now.

"S-1050…," I paused.

"Yes,"

"Have you ever seen my face?" he asked quietly.

"No," she stated matter-of-factly. "Have you ever seen mine?"

"No," he replied back. "I can't remember mine anymore."

"That seems to be common among the Korps." She replied with a subtle hint of humour.

"Yeah," he replied unconsciously feeling at the mask which covered his face and wrapped around his head in an embrace that would have given his dead mother a run for her money. Before Jericus knew what he was doing the straps which fastened my mask to his face were being undone. The pressure against his face remained though and to get it off he had to put a decent amount of effort into its removal due to the snug fit.

After a moment the mask was pried off and it was as if Jericus could feel again. The constantly recycled air of the ship felt like a summer breeze on Surris to his skin. The influx of feeling made him not notice Fenria who was now at his side with the mask he had discarded in her hands.

"S-1049 you know the rules," she said urgently a hint of a forgotten emotion in her voice, fear he thinks. "If you get caught without your mask on the watchmaster will discipline you."

"I don't care." he said softly. "It feels wonderful Fenria; besides the watchmaster doesn't usually check the cabins."

She knelt beside him studying what he had unveiled. Jericus turned to observe her masked face the abyss of those lenses held his gaze for what felt like hours as he tried in vain to see past them. When he finally gave up trying to discern where her eyes really were behind that mask Fenria gently placed his mask back over his face. As she fastened the straps tightly around Jericus' head he was overcome with both relief and sadness.

He was Korpsman S-1049 and that gave him a purpose and allowed him to keep going despite the horrible circumstances. However, he desperately wanted to be who he once was, but knew that he could never be that man, at least not right now. Fenria rested his head on her lap and the two stayed that way for about an hour before she finally lay down beside him holding his hand in hers as they both drifted off. Drills and practices were surprisingly enough voluntary in the Korps and the watchmasters don't usually check the cabins.

The next day…or rather the next cycle saw more of the same. Those in the Korps drilled and practiced while the other regiments used their rec-time. Jericus noted that there were even a few guardsmen from the Hoarfell and Randon watching the Korpsmen from the side-lines as they performed close-combat exercises. Through quick glances he could see a few of them flinching as they watched him and others ruthlessly beat each other; from what Jericus had gathered few other regiments actually used full-force when they practiced hand-to-hand. A few even stayed as they began marching exercises.

He caught their voices even over the din of marching feet as they fell uniformly to the metal of the deck. "Look at the damn blanks go, do you think they sleep?" asked one.

"I wouldn't even think they ate if they weren't across from us in mess every damn cycle." Another replied. For the most part Jericus and the other Korps conscripts ignored the chatter directed on them and continued on with their drills.

There was a big murmur among the audience when they began bayonet drills sticking dummies with images of regular guardsmen imposed on them. All the while Watchmaster B-52 blared, "The enemy may come from within as well as without."

Understandably this unnerved many of the guardsmen watching them, most new conscripts themselves and unused to the Korps. As Jericus walked back to the starting point to wait his turn to stab the dummy again he caught a glimpse of Xavier. He was standing there looking as nervous to be watching them train as all of the other Hoarfell conscripts. At the end of the drills the Korps new-bloods went to mess and ate.

Fenria was sitting to Jericus' left and the two exchanged a brief look to one another before dispelling it quickly lest they be reprimanded by a watchmaster. After mess they walked back to their quarters. As they walked down the corridor Jericus spotted the men who had previously given him trouble.

As had happened earlier the leader stepped forward, Jericus was wary, he was expecting some sort of attempt at revenge, but to his surprise the man just slapped his hand to his chest and gave him a slight bow in respect.

"I'm sorry 'bout before blank, never had one of you actually tear into me like that before, that tells me that there's something more under there than just another big toy soldier. I'll be seeing you around, I wish you luck conscript," the man and his cohorts went by without another word. Jericus sensed no malice in his words and decided that he didn't have to worry about the man in the future

Further along another soldier stepped out from behind a corner, the distinct uniform of the Hoarfell denoting him and to Jericus' surprise it was none other than Xavier. He gave Jericus a pointed look, "Jericus I need to talk to you." His voice was that of a man with a purpose, Jericus' confused silence pervaded for a few moments, Fenria wasn't giving any help.

Xavier sighed, "Look I know it's you, your number is S-1049. I remembered and she's the same friend that was with you when we last met, S-1050." He said indicating our designations stencilled on our coats.

"What do you want to talk about," Jericus said, the question sounding more than a little strained, though he had finally snapped out of his confusion, it was strange to hear his name again, disturbing even, it brought too many conflicting feelings.

"First things first, what's up with you; I mean those rumours about the Death Korps aren't true are they? What did they do to you anyway; it's like you're not even the same person anymore." Xavier said. Processing what he said took some time for Jericus, considering memories which he had to bury and forget during the training. But in the end he wasn't able to find an answer.

"Um, I ah..." Jericus muttered out, and then paused. His slip into the first person had startled Fenria who was suddenly looking around expecting a lasbolt to take his head off at any moment, though she became relieved as that possibility seemed very unlikely, secluded as they were at the moment.

Xavier waited for a few long excruciated minutes before he finally sighed and decided to give up, he wasn't going to resolve anything this time around. He knew he would have to try again some other time, Jericus for his part seemed to be on a loop; considering things, attempting to answer his old friend's question, and failing.

"Right, well it was good talking to you Jericus. I'll see you around okay." Xavier said as he turned to take his leave. With Xavier gone Jericus and Fenria saw no further reason to stay and continued on their way to their quarters. Once the two had stripped and cleaned their lasguns, checked their other gear, and gone over the appropriate litanies it was straight to sleep.

As Jericus felt sleep begin to take him Fenria immediately voiced a concern, "Are you okay S-1049? You slipped up, if the Watchmaster was around…" She let the silence state what she didn't want to, and Jericus was caught off guard for a moment.

His response was delayed and almost devolved into the loop from before, but luckily he found his voice and his sense "Yeah, this trooper is okay, just a slip up. Don't worry it won't happen again,"

"Good to hear." She sighed in relief, going right into her second concern "You remember right?"

Not missing a beat Jericus replied, "Always S-1050, and you?"

"Yes."

With Their nightly ritual complete the duo fell asleep and awaited the start of the next cycle which would surely bring with it more of the same. It did not disappoint as they went about the hum drum of the usual routine when they woke. They were no longer given any grief by the other regiments because they simply avoided them and they returned the sentiment.

Then one cycle things changed everyone was told to report to the main hanger instead of mess. This brought about a few grumbles from the other regiments while the 82nd simply accepted the loss of one meal in exchange for what was sure to be vital information from the higher-ups. When the time came they formed up in neat blocks as always and waited for the news.

It was a colonel from the Hoarfell 121st who addressed them all. Jericus figured they decided that the 82nd's own Colonel K-856 would not inspire confidence in the other non-Korps regiments, and he reflected that this must be a regular thing. He started in a booming voice which echoed across the large expanse. "Ladies and gentlemen I give you the hive world of Tartarian," He stated motioning to the hololithic display of a floating planet. "There has been a rebellion, the hive cities are slowly being overtaken in an uprising and it will be our job to cleanse these upstarts from within. The regiments aboard the _Nosce Te Ipsum_ will be securing hive city 32. I have confidence that the situation will be handled swiftly and that in the end we shall emerge victorious."

"You are to report to your dropships in full kit ready to carry out your duty mid-cycle tomorrow when we arrive in system." He stated and then we were all dismissed to our own devices. The information we were given was short and only gave us the slightest hint of what we would be facing. The other regiments gave voice to their concerns in murmured conversations. Everyone knew that the higher-ups would give us all the proper information only when they felt we needed it. The Korps didn't really care if the higher-ups didn't, that was okay, just so long as their troopers had orders to follow.

Jericus and Fenria were about to be thrown headlong into their first campaign as Death Korps guardsmen. That night their shared cabin held fewer whispers than usual; perhaps because both were wondering how it would be. They had endured hell during their training and it was a miracle or perhaps even intervention by the Emperor himself that both made it as far as they did.

One thing was sure in both of their minds as they slept, the true trials were right ahead of them.

**XXX**

"_**What scared me the most was when my father would put on the gasmask. His face would disappear… This was not a human being at all."- Philip K. Dick.**_

The Death Korps were a constant reminder to Xavier throughout his stay on the _Nosce Te Ipsum _of how unlucky he could have been when the conscription came, and how unlucky his friend had been. After meeting Jericus the day before they shipped out the thought had been gnawing at him the entire time.

Xavier had grown up with him after all; he remembers Jericus had always been fairly happy when they were kids, even if he was a bit unsettling to be around at times Xavier couldn't think of someone he had known with more optimism. He knows that Jericus' family had been casualties during the war, he wondered if that combined with the training had made his friend seem so… broken.

Xavier had heard about the Korps through rumour but he had never thought that those rumours could possibly be telling the truth. It was no secret that Guard life was tough, and that the training was difficult.

"Keck my own Guard training was pretty rough, but apparently nothing like what he went through," he thought sombrely. The Hoarfell being a reconnaissance regiment meant that each of them was trained to be self-sufficient so that they could—if separated from everyone else—make their way back to the regiment alive. In the words of Xavier's drill-sergeant, 'we've spent a good amount of time training your sorry asses, with that in mind we'd like to keep you alive to fight for us as long as we can. We're not gonna throw you away if we can help it.'

The regulars who had been with the 121st Hoarfell from the beginning had told them all about their past experiences with the 82nd Death Korps. Xavier thought they were greatly exaggerating. That belief faltered after he had talked with his old friend, only to be speaking to some stranger.

His illusions had been completely dispelled when he spent time with 82nd regulars on the _Nosce Te Ipsum_. They were all the same with their masks; hell they never took them off. When Xavier watched them performing combat drills he couldn't, for the Emperor's sake, see human beings, it was like seeing some unnamed xenos species.

"Hey Xavier you alright man?" said one of his companions drawing him from his thoughts.

Xavier turned to him, "Yeah I'm fine Cain just thinking you know."

"You wondering 'bout that friend of yours again; 'cause if you are then you should take my advice and forget about him, I mean after all he is a blank now." Cain replied. The words were not lost on Xavier; his new friend had a point. Jericus seemed as though he was lost, and besides Xavier was in the Guard now. It was just something he was going to have to deal with; shoulder the weight like any good Guardsmen and trudge onward.

Out of all those motivational speeches their drill sergeant liked to shove down their throats the ones about hard work were the ones that stuck with Xavier. He looked down at the pink slop that was his sole meal for the cycle and watched as it dribbled from his spoon which up until that point had lain forgotten in hand. Then he looked across the mess-hall at the Korpsmen. All of them still wore those damn masks; slurping their food and drink through straws attached to said masks. Cain seemed to grasp his thoughts, "Hey you ever think that this slop is the way it is because they make it for the blanks. I mean I'm pretty sure that the damn chef is one of them."

What Cain said held truth to it the mess sergeant was indeed a Korpsman. Xavier remembered one time Dorn had tried to talk with him. Mess sergeant D-562 simply let that pink slop pour from the ladle he was holding and land rather messily onto Dorn's tray, and then he motioned for the next man in line. Unlike many of the others in his regiment Xavier tried his best to get to know each of the Korpsmen, he often wondered what morbid curiosity compelled him to do this, probably had something to do with figuring out Jericus.

Trying was the best way to describe his futile efforts though; the most he was able to get out of any of them had been his conversations with Jericus, if you could call them conversations. Other times he had been able to get a few others to give him their names, or rather their designations, which didn't amount to much seeing as those were stencilled on their uniforms to begin with. Jericus was the only one he knew by name and that was only because he had known him before the conscription.

"Yeah D-562 is a Korpsman, he's not so bad though. At least he doesn't spike the food." Xavier replied confirming Cain's beliefs.

"Damn, why do you do that Xavier?" He questioned jabbing his spork at him, some of the leftover slop flying and plopping on his face.

"Do what?" Xavier asked wiping pink goop from his cheek slightly irritated, though he let it slide, Cain was like his new best friend, and for all the man's faults he was at least solid and seemed loyal.

"Get to know them like that. I mean their all just numbers anyway, and it's not as if they want it to be any other way. I mean every time I tried to treat one like a person they just gave me that freaky silent stare and waited until I walked away." Cain replied imitating a masked korpsman zombie-like look, it came off like he was more drunk than emotionless though.

"Wel—," Xavier's answer was cut off by a new voice in the conversation.

"The boy's right son, I've served in the 121st Hoarfell alongside the 82nd for years. And in all that time I've learned three things; one they aren't particularly social, two they'll help you in combat, but don't even think about retreat, they'll just shoot you in the back, unless they're in on it, and three they're suicidal."

Xavier blinked at Havlock 'Grime' Vern before settling into giving the veteran a good long stare. Usually the vets of the 121st Hoarfell didn't like to talk to them since they were the new bloods. The only reason Xavier knew Havlock's name was because he was his direct commanding officer. "What do you mean they'll shoot you if you retreat Sergeant Grime?" Cain asked his curiosity getting the better of him.

"It's exactly as it sounds trooper. Those blanks are trained to shoot any who they deem to be a rebel, traitor, coward, or otherwise danger to the mission." He paused running a hand through his greying hair, "Scary thing is they ain't discouraged by the commissars to stop. They seem to see it as a way to boost all the other regiments so called commitment to the cause, only good thing is that it really doesn't happen often at all, least not with the 121st and 145th, but that's mostly because we're all used to the 82nd by now," he said.

"Great so you're telling me that on top of the good commissar we have to worry about the blanks shooting us in the back too? I mean they're on our side right?" Cain said slightly outraged at the prospect. Xavier somewhat sympathized with his friend.

"You boys have to understand. The blanks own Colonel views them as numbers on a data-slate—even more-so than our general—and the blanks have been trained to see themselves like that. So in turn they see all of us that way, we're all just able bodies to them and you're either on their side, or disposable. Besides I already told ya it doesn't happen often, if at all." Sergeant Grime chuckled for a moment, "don't worry newbie's you'll get used to it. Just listen to me and the other vets keep your heads down, and for Emperor's sake don't you falter in the face of the enemy. The blanks ain't the only ones who'll shoot ya, I don't much like cowards either. I just happen to be slightly more tolerant of 'em."

The sounds of eating died around them as those closest listened in on the conversation, faces attentive, and ears listening to the veteran in our midst.

"Well, son I hope you listened to what I said." Sergeant Grime stated as he got up and left to go back to the other veterans of the 121st.

"Man I hope you listen to what the sarg said too, 'cause I don't want to get shot in the arse because I was next to you when you bolted." Cain said before he went back to trying to eat our 'food'. Xavier ignored the slight barb and was silent for the rest of mess time; he didn't eat another spoonful of the slop.

Instead he was too busy thinking about Jericus; he still had to be there under that mask. They couldn't have just stripped him of who he was… could they? Xavier had after all seen them practice, the way the blanks drilled just wasn't right. They were almost like servitors in their single-minded dedication.

He caught Jericus in the hall and even managed to get a few words from him. Xavier wished he hadn't, it was as if he wasn't even speaking to a person. He spoke in an odd stagnant tone, but what really scared Xavier out was that his friend seemed to be stuck in some sort of loop. It was as if what he had went through split his mind in two and buried most of his memories, it was like he was trying to get back to normal and couldn't. It sent a chill up Xavier's spine, his friend was in there somewhere, but Xavier wasn't sure if he would ever get out again.

The cycles passed slowly, every once in a while Xavier caught a glimpse of Jericus or at least he thought he did.

"Damn those masks," he thought bitterly. Mess was quieter than usual and Cain and a few of the others in his squad picked up on Xavier's odd attitude. Cain tried to get him to talk about it; but how would he understand? He didn't know Jericus before the conscription, hadn't grown up with him, hadn't had his friend turned into something only one step above a servitor.

Distraction finally came one cycle in the most unlikely of forms. Ever see a Guardsman chase after rats with a spade; it's strangely hilarious, especially when he runs into a bulkhead and knocks himself out. Cain did a spit-take because of that one. Bastard got whatever he was drinking all over Xavier's tunic. Thinking back Xavier knew it was some of the 121st home-made tea Rungi, stuff was supposedly brewed from some sort of fungus from the regiment's original home world.

The sergeant told them that they'd managed to smuggle it aboard when the regiment was mustered; stuff was resilient, apparently you could grow it anywhere on the ship that was even slightly moist. Being fungus you'd expect it to be disgusting, but it actually wasn't that bad. Had to be kind of guarded though, apparently the cogboys and navy-boys didn't like the intrusive fungus very much.

But, the sergeant said that the 121st had spread it thoroughly throughout the ship until it was at the point that the navy couldn't get rid of it, try as they might. Everyone in the 121st contended that it didn't cause any harm, and in the event of a ration shortage the crew wouldn't go hungry since it was edible. Unfortunately that moment of levity didn't last long.

Before he knew it Xavier and the others were back to watching the blanks train for entertainment. Some of them even placed bets on the outcomes of the fights they had for close-combat exercises, Xavier abstained from the festivities. He noted that the 121st didn't train like the blanks; they went all out and were encouraged to do so.

The Randon were pretty brutal too, but they whooped and hollered like barroom brawlers while they beat the paste out of each other, so it wasn't nearly as eerie as watching the Korpsmen go at it, mostly silent save a few grunts and the sound of the scuffle itself.

Xavier wasn't just being squeamish either, Hoarfell CQC training was pretty tough too—apparently knife-fighting is a major sport on Hoarfell—but the drill sergeants usually stop the fight when someone's arm is about to snap. The blanks watchmasters didn't do that, or at least they really pushed the limits, and that was what scared most of them about the blanks, they seemed all too willing to go too far, and no one seemed game to stop them.

These dark thoughts soon left Xavier though as one cycle everyone was to report for a briefing instead of normal mess. It brought about a few grumbles, but every one of them showed up. In that main hanger bay and lined up the 82nd regiment front and centre with the 121st and 145th surrounding them. Then some Hoarfell Colonel dropped the bomb, Xavier couldn't remember the man's name, though he thought he ought to. They were going to war for the first time; well Xavier and everyone else conscripted from Surris. To the vets it must have just seemed like another day in their long lists of days.

There was a lot of conversation among the 121st that cycle, the new troops including Xavier wondering why they were given so little information and the veterans reassuring them that it's always been this way.

"Just keep your head down, and for Emperor's sake don't run away from the fight if there's a blank or the commissar around," said one rough looking vet to Cain and Xavier. He reminded Xavier of Sergeant Grime in a lot of ways. Even gave them the same advice; well mostly the same.

Cain began to reminisce about their home world during lights out, specifically about their last day on its surface. They had gotten together with their squad and went out to get properly drunk and do other 'frivolous' activities with the opposite sex.

"Man you know she was gorgeous." Cain said a wistful smile on his face, "I ever tell you that she and I knew each other from before the invasion?"

"No you left that part out in favour of how she looked naked." Xavier replied nonchalantly.

"Emperor knows why I put up with you." Cain bristled, "anyway like I was saying we knew each other from before. Hell if the Orks hadn't come and the conscription didn't happen I think I might have asked her to marry me." The last part he said in a near silent whisper with barely concealed sadness bubbling up.

"What about you Xavier, you have someone special back on Surris? You never did tell us all what you did for your last night."

Xavier didn't feel like telling him what it was that he did. After the drinks the squad headed their separate ways most of them with a girl on their arm including Cain and his sweetheart. Xavier didn't want to tell him that he had gone to visit the rubble that was his and Jericus' old hab-block.

Cain was one of the lucky ones; his family hadn't all been killed. But for others like Xavier, their families were gone. Obliterated, counted as necessary casualties who'd died to protect the Emperor's servants while their sons, daughters, and siblings were trapped in the manufactorums.

Xavier knew Jericus' family didn't make it, both because they lived on the same block, and because he didn't see them at all since the end of the war. Not to mention he knew Jericus would have spent his last day with them if he could have, blank or not. At last Xavier replied to Cain in a quiet sombre tone, "I paid my respects to the rubble."

**A/N:Kindly R&R.**

**300-709.**


	4. Bad Moon Rising

"_**At his best, man is the noblest of all animals; separated from law and justice he is the worst."- Aristotle**_

Being a part of a patrol group in the Arbites has never been more exciting in city 32 on Tartarian. It almost made me wish for the simpler days when the mutant scum would only occasionally show their faces before scurrying away into the depths of the undercity. Now though with these damn chaos worshippers to organize all the mutants and the gangs the undercity has become a warzone.

"Emperor damn these vile scum," said cadet Thak interrupting my train of thought. The Arbites were starting to get desperate; dangerously low on bodies we had to start throwing our cadets out of the academy early so that we had the man power to face the ever growing forces which beset city 32. I swear they were getting younger with each new one they threw me and they weren't getting any better at surviving.

"The Emperor may damn them cadet Thak but it is our job to punish them." Responded Arbite Zuriel sagely. I served with Zuriel for years and the man was three years my senior; I've learned to trust his advice and take it into consideration when making decisions in battle. The position of command sometimes came with great burden.

Before the uprisings patrols were carried out in groups of two. Now the standard was three the third usually being a new cadet needing to be trained. Thak was Zuriel and mines fourth trainee and with the Emperor's grace he would live. After all the forces of chaos were getting stronger each passing day. No one wanted to say it but we all knew that soon even the Adeptus Arbites would not be able to hold back the heretical flood building up.

I gripped my shotgun tighter and noticed Zuriel do the same with his power maul and suppression shield. The hairs on the back of my neck were standing up as our group approached the rundown hab-block. That is if you could even call these ramshackle slums habs. Most of the inhabitants seemed normal; occasionally you'd catch a glimpse of a deformed hand or hear the insane babbling of some chaos worshipper echoing from the depths.

But as normal as any of these people seemed I knew that more than likely they were against his glorious light. For that they must be punished the Lex Imperialis left no room for doubt on that point and it was something I was willing to believe without question. After a few years battling those who have shunned his teaching I no longer have any doubts maybe pity and perspective but not doubts.

It was then that the trap was sprung, and we walked right into it, the chatter of autorifles and the hiss of lasbeams as they sliced through the air over our helmeted heads. I sighted in on one of the attackers who hadn't taken cover and was shooting erratically missing us by a wide margin. The grotesque face of the mutant disappeared in a shower of gore as my shotgun boomed and let loose its deadly frag round.

"Form up behind me!" barked Zuriel as he threw his suppression shield in-front of him. Autorifle rounds panged off of the heavy plasteel as it crackled with electricity when Zuriel activated it. Thak and I followed his suggestion and got behind him letting his shield take the punishment. All the while I was looking for a way out, some kind of cover or at least a way to even the odds.

"Over there into that hab!" I yelled. Zuriel hearing my order began to move toward the opening of the hab letting his suppression shield take the endless torrent of fire. Thak and I stayed behind him both of us taking potshots with our shotguns as we proceeded along. We managed to take down a few more of the bastards before we finally found refuge in the rundown hab where a woman was cowering in the corner with her two children. A minor offense in itself; city 32 was overcrowded and population controls allowed for a mother to have only one child. But I would have to deal with that another time.

"Zuriel stay by the entrance, any of those heretics get close give 'em a good knock on the head otherwise try to keep their attention and draw them over here. Cadet Thak you follow me we're going to see if we can flank these bastards." My voice rang loud and clear and my companions did as they were told Zuriel stayed by the door and Thak was right behind me as I kicked down the back door of the hab. My shotgun at the ready should anything be on the other-side.

After a quick survey of the area we proceeded down the alleyway the door had lead to; I took cover at the corner and peered around. Satisfied I motioned for Thak to keep following me as I rounded the corner and came to a stop at the next, again peeking around to get a view of the situation. My helmet giving me heads up information on the number of hostile entities as I peered at the large group pouring a torrent of fire at the entrance of the hab we were just in; at least a dozen in all and packing only simple auto and lasrifles.

I could hear Zuriel cursing them even over the din of combat.

"Alright Thak on my order you run to the other side of the street and once you reach a covered position you start pouring fire into those heretical bastards backs." I said to Thak sternly, making sure the information stuck. I didn't need another dead cadet; we were going to need all the able bodies we could get. He merely nodded and waited for me to give the order. Good boy. Again I peered around the corner making sure mutants and regular rebels alike wouldn't notice Thak as he made his way across the street. Seeing that Zuriel had them all thoroughly distracted I gave the order. "Now!" and like that he was off racing across the street and getting into position.

Moments later the boom of Thak's shotgun was heard as he began to put his slug rounds into mutant and heretic backs felling them with surprisingly accurate fire. As soon as the mutants took their attention off of Zuriel to face the new threat the man charged toward the group. Brandishing his power maul he brought it down into the nearest mutant's head effectively obliterating its skull in a vivid display of black foul-looking gore. Then he casually batted another mutant away with his suppression shield the arcs of electricity frying its twisted body in the process.

Taking his action as my queue I stepped from behind my cover and began to unload frag-rounds into the throng of now disorganized mutants and heretics. Some tried to retreat only to be brought down by Thak's accurate shotgun slugs. I began to advance upon the foul creatures never pausing in my barrage. As I approached one of the mutants in a panicked attempt to flee came running straight at me. I drove the solid butt of my shotgun into what passed for the vile beings nose with a sickening crunch.

It gurgled and then fell clutching at its face howling in pain. I bestowed mercy on the foul creature with a blast from my shotgun effectively putting a fist sized hole in its skeletal chest and ending its misery. As I approached I witnessed the last of the heretics standing get on his knees and beg for mercy.

"There is no such thing for filth like you." Zuriel stated as he cracked the man across his temple killing him in an arc of blood with yet another crunching noise. A few who had merely been injured moaned as they lay dying. The street was bathed in their blood as we walked among those still alive and writhing on the cold rockcrete, Thak having joined us when I motioned for him to.

I spotted one that wasn't a mutant and looked like the leader if his slightly better dress was of any indication. He was among those still alive and with what looked like a survivable wound. He would be valuable for questioning back at the precinct courthouse. "Treat that one's wounds and make sure he lives Zuriel, he may have answers to some of our superior's questions. Thak send the rest to the warp." I said pointing to the one to be kept alive.

"If you say so sir; personally I think we should just kill the traitorous filth and be done with it." Replied Zuriel as he walked off to perform his duty.

As Thak and Zuriel went about their appointed duties I voxed our situation in, "I need a snatch team in the undercity at hab-block number 31-B. We have apprehended a suspected leader of the rebel forces, over."

"Copy that Arbite Drustos. Snatch team is outbound to your position please hold in the mean time over and out." The mechanical voice of the operator stated back. With that taken care of I sat back and listened for the booming echoes as Thak put these heretics out of their misery. It was far too merciful if you ask me but at least the scum would be dead. I walked over to where Zuriel was treating our prisoner and I was not surprised to hear the man screaming as Zuriel applied salves and sewed wounds shut with not much in the way of gentleness. To make sure the man would not attack Zuriel had bound him with our standard issue bindings his hands twisted behind him in an uncomfortable fashion.

"How is our prisoner holding up Zuriel?" I asked casually, the screaming having died to mere labored breaths.

"Wretch wouldn't shut up for a bit there, but I believe he should make it to the interrogators alive and well. Pity as that is." he replied.

"The false Emperor will not save you! You all will suffer at the hands of my brothers and the true gods!" The heretic all but screamed out of his overtaxed lungs.

"Perhaps he will not save us heretic. But he will ensure that your brothers and 'gods' will fail. None shall eclipse his divine light; the Emperor protects." I stated the benediction with great reverence.

"The Emperor protects," both Zuriel and Thak echoed. The Heretic spat a gob of blood at our feet before Zuriel roughly hauled him to his feet aggravating his wound and making him grunt in pain. Throughout our conversation Thak had been taking care of the heretics still alive, the blasts from his shotgun sharp and piercing in the amphitheatre of the hab-block.

I turned in time to see the youth close in on the last breathing heretic and aim the shotgun at its head, holding its gaze as he did so. I couldn't help but feel proud of my cadet which prompted my response.

"The Emperor smiles upon you for doing his work today cadet Thak. I believe you will have a promising future in his service with the Arbites."

"Yes sir." Thak replied as he pulled the trigger yet again silencing another heretic. I just

stood there and smiled; the Emperor smiles upon us all indeed.

"_**If we don't change our direction we're likely to end up where we're headed." **_

_**-Chinese proverb**_

The deck plates thundered as we jogged in ordered formation into the troopships which would shuttle us planet-side. We were briefed that our regiment the 82nd death korps along with the 121st Hoarfell, and the 145th Randon would take city 32 along with help provided by PDF, and Adeptus Arbite forces already present. Our mission was to eradicate the heretical and insurrectionist factions within the city.

Up the ramp we went into our assigned dropship S-1050 and I got to our seats and strapped in securing our lasguns to the cradles next to them. That done we waited for the ship to fill up and for the boarding to finish. We were all strapped in and ready to go when the sounds of groaning metal reached our ears as the ship lurched forward out of the hangar-bay and into the void of space. I imagined the fiery inferno of atmospheric entry as the turbulence worsened, and we entered the embrace of Tartarian.

Some seemed sick and were trying to hold in their paste. A few failed and others yelled as half-digested pink-paste splattered against them. Most of us Korpsmen remained impassive save for those who were a little sickened by the motions of the ship as it swayed. Finally after what seemed an eternity the ship finally settled and the rest of the ride was smooth as we touched down.

"Alright boys and girls it's time to get those asses moving lets get out of here. Go, go, go!" bellowed one of the sergeants. I believe it was one of the Hoarfell sergeants judging by his speech. Despite this we all listened and unstrapped our harnesses, grabbed our war-gear and began to disembark. Thundering down the ramp and lining up outside on the massive landing pad which was on the top of one of the towers which lead to the innards of the massive hive city 32. The world around us outside of the city was dead for lack of a better word. The arid and pollution choked air made every korpsman thankful for their mask the guardsmen of other regiments around us could be heard coughing trying to soldier through it to the entrance. It must have been difficult for them.

The baleful sun looked down on us with what could be called distain or maybe disgust. Eventually we made it into the towers monolithic structure the large doorway swallowing us all as we entered what passed as the upper-class part of city 32. The denizens of city 32 looked at us with awe; probably due to the sheer amount of us that came poring out into the expanse of the uppermost part of this particular tower.

To think that this same scene was playing out all over the city at other landing pads was something to really be in awe of; so many of us being brought in to quell one insurrection. We then were lead into the centre of the inner tower and lined up yet again in solid blocks to await further orders. The watchmaster on hand gave no pause in beginning to assign duties to our respective squads. Fenria and I eagerly awaited and before long our squad was called forth to do our duty.

It seemed like an arbitrary thing but we were assigned to simply begin securing the area along with several other squads. It was without a doubt that if there was any safe place in this city it would be on the uppermost floors. However, ours was not to question why.

…

Watching the Guardsmen march into the tower centre was an awe-inspiring sight indeed; a true display of the Emperor's might, his divine hammer about to be brought to bear against the heretics in our midst. Thak and Zuriel stood to my left and right respectively. We had been recalled to help with the arrival of the Imperial Guard regiments which would be city 32's salvation.

"After you get past the sheer amount of them this is the most rag-tag looking group of guardsmen I've ever seen," commented Zuriel.

I couldn't help but agree, "Yes they do seem… varied"

"Hey who's the regiment in the gasmasks? There some kind of contamination we ought to know about?" queried Thak.

"No that's probably just part of their doctrine. Guard regiments vary wildly in tactics and dress depending on what world they originate from." I responded backhandedly.

In truth I wasn't really paying attention to my young cadet. The very guardsmen he had pointed out were a cause for concern in and of themselves if who I thought they were was correct. The Death Korps of Krieg; I've only ever heard of them second-hand through idle chatter and such. But the rumors surrounding them were disturbing to say the least. Faith and loyalty to the Emperor is something which should be upheld; however, sometimes there are shades of grey and if the rumors were true these particular guardsmen would not be able to distinguish such a thing and cause unneeded destruction because of it.

"I don't care if it's their doctrine. How am I supposed to trust in a man who won't show me his face?" Zuriel stated while munching on… something.

"So long as their faith in the Emperor is firm there is no reason we should not trust them," replied Thak in a droning voice.

"Emperor, what are they teaching you cadets these days?" Snorted Zuriel as he finished his food with two audible munches.

"What is that supposed to mean arbite Zuriel? If I didn't know any better I would swear you were a heretic." Thak replied subtle warning in his voice.

"What he means cadet Thak is that there are sometimes shades of gray. Do not interpret the Lex Imperialis of the Arbites so literally. Sometimes one must look within oneself for the Emperors true will to be seen." I said passively as I gazed out at the tight block-like precision formations of the masked guardsmen.

"Besides, with this lot coming to our city we will have enough blind faith for all of us."

…

Looking at the blanks as they marched beside us one would have to do a double take. As a matter of fact now that we were all off the cramped passageways of the _Nosce Te Impsum _it was easy to see how ragtag we really were. No two regiments were from the same world or had the same uniform pattern. Hell I'm pretty sure that no two regiments from that ship even fought the same.

The blanks marched in precise square configurations. The 121st Hoarfell myself included seemed to imitate them but we were much more loose, less disciplined I suppose. Plus the contrast in uniform was an oxymoron in itself; The Hoarfell's olive fatigues, ragged cloaks, and flak jackets clashed against the black and grey greatcoats and fatigues of the Death Korps. Plus there was the Randon 145th; they wore some kind of bright red getup, white circle on the chest plate usually with a dark handprint in it.

To think we were all supposed to save this world. Even worse was the thought that this ragtag conglomeration of different Imperial Guard regiments and others like them saved Surris, my own home world. Looking to Cain on my right I noticed many of the same feelings written all over his face. Eventually we came to a halt and given an objective to take care of; Cain and I were put to work unloading the multitude of equipment we brought with us. Specifically Cain and I along with the rest of our unit were tasked with unloading the most precious of all the Imperial Guards supplies, food. Crates and crates of the prepackaged stuff all to be transported to the area which was designated and being transformed into the bases makeshift mess area.

"Hey, we should grab a few extra rations now while we can. You know as soon as we get out to the field we'll be scrounging up rats to eat. Besides when are we gonna be this close to solid food again before the damn blanks turn it into that paste?" said Dorn 'Hack' our units medic.

"Ya know that's the first good idea I've heard from you in all this time Hack. All in favor?" said Cain gaining the response of the three others which made up our unit.

I was the voice of reason and I voiced my own opinions as we passed the two blanks guarding the entrance to the makeshift mess which was once a lobby of some sort. "Better not guys, stealing food is grounds for execution. And with blanks all around us do you guys really want to take the chance, and get caught? We all know they'd shoot us without hesitation, and worse yet they have permission, hell they have explicit orders to do it from their officers." The end of my statement was met with silence. They all knew I was right, better to go a little hungry later than get shot now.

"You hear that from that friend of yours?" asked Garvel, slight contempt lacing his words. It was well known among my unit that Jericus was a friend of mine, and a blank. The only one of them who trusted me enough to accept it was Cain the others I sometimes caught giving me suspicious looks as if I was a blank myself. I took it all in stride though; if you let things like that get in your head then you're liable to die. Or so our drill sergeant told us all.

Putting the crate that Cain and I were carrying down we turned to the Korpsman responsible for the cataloging of all the food none other than Mess sergeant 562.

"That's the entire supply of synthetic meat Guardsman Xavier. Next are the spices." Replied 562 clearly.

"Spices? You actually use spices. I've never tasted any in that slop you make. It's protein paste at best and if we're lucky it doesn't have any taste at all," grumbled Cain as he put one foot up on the crate. 562 abruptly brushed Cain's foot off the crate and affixed him with that empty eyed stare that blanks were so infamous.

"Please carry on with your duties as instructed Guardsman Cain." Replied 562 tersely. The rest of our unit watched on with mild interest as Cain and 562 engaged in a tense staring contest. Eventually 562 won and we were all walking back to where the crates were being unloaded from the supply-ships.

"Emperor, did you know 562 knew our names? I don't remember talking to the guy on the _Ipsum_ other than that one time to complain about the food. Guess it was a small ship after all," said Cain muttering the last bit under his breath.

"You know how those blanks are man. Wouldn't be surprised if he's just waiting for an excuse to off ya; I'd be more careful around old 562 if I were you Cain," replied Eli our designated marksman.

"It wouldn't be a bad idea to be a little less hostile to him." I said absently.

"I was just kidding with him. 562 an' me go all the way back to day one mess on the _Ipsum_ with our little spats. Granted he only ever said about five words to me before today and I didn't know he made the food, or his name, but we're all good," said Cain in a joking manner making wild gestures with his arms. It got a good laugh from the rest of the unit; even I chuckled a little bit.

Soon we were all hauling more crates back to the mess and back to 562 and his checklist. Strangest thing was we really were hauling spices and I'm sure the one thing going through all our minds was where in the warp were these when we were on the _Ipsum_.

"Hey lads how goes stock duty?" Sergeant Grim asked casually while leaning against a nearby wall eating some-kind of fruit.

"Where'd you get that?" asked Eli excitement in his voice. From what we gathered about him his family business had been a fruit stand in one of the markets on Surris.

"Some local fair," Grim replied spitting out some seeds as he did so. Then he tossed the half eaten fruit to Eli and walked away to do whatever. None of us questioned why the sarg wasn't working with us; we all figured the vets deserved a little more respect than that. Eli took a bite out of the fruit visibly relishing the taste then he passed it along to Hack who nodded appreciatively before nibbling on it himself. The others finished up what was left before we got back to 562. Emperor only knew what he'd do to us if he thought we stole some of his food. It was going to be a long day getting these essential supplies off the ship.

…

After a few hours of arbitrary work S-1050, 1052, 1045, 1046, and I were finally done securing the perimeter and were being relieved by another unit who would begin to set up defenses including some barriers as well as some auto-cannons to help keep the area secure. We were to head back to the main area which had by now been set up as what would be our barracks and main base of operations for the duration of our stay in city 32. Once there new orders would be issued. Rumors had permeated that we were going to be sent into the city proper to the lower levels where the fighting was starting to get bad.

If these rumors interested any of those around me though you wouldn't be able to tell, stoic as we all always were these days. When we had finally returned to the main operating base we were quickly debriefed by our superiors then sent out yet again but this time in force and large contingent of the 82nd along with the 121st Hoarfell to the lower levels. The rumors had turned out to be true the fighting had gotten bad. Local PDF and Arbite forces were being pressed hard by the rebels. Their defenses starting to strain, the 82nd Krieg and 121st Hoarfell were to reinforce the main line and begin to drive the rebel lines back. The campaign was starting to get underway as the last of our preparations were put in place at our base of operations. In just one more day we were going to war.

**A/N: So, I know the shift to first person pov may have thrown a few of you off, but I just wanted to try something a bit different with this chapter, get more into the characters heads a bit. Don't worry for those of you craving more action it will be coming in the next few chapters as the war ramps up. See you next week. Kindly R&R.**

**300-709.**


	5. As Mayflies

"_**Throw your soldiers into positions whence there is no escape, and they will prefer death to flight." –The Art of War**_

We were brought to the forward positions via chimera the vehicles jostling us, but as I looked around me the masked faces of my comrades conveyed no sign of discomfort. Or at least no one complained. S-1050 was to my left as always; it seemed a habit of ours to sit or stand in numerical order as we did during training even though there was no reason to do so anymore outside of drills.

The inner troop compartment was cramped and we were packed in like cordwood. Then an abrupt stop and the ramp slammed down. The watchmaster was yelling orders to disembark; we jogged down and out of the chimera at a brisk pace following orders automatically as we went along. Eventually we arrived where the lines had been drawn. The makeshift wall of sandbags and scrap metal made up what was in essence our trench wall complete with autocanon, heavy bolter, and heavy stubber emplacements.

PDF and Arbites already manned these as well as lined the wall. Our watchmaster was conferring with an Arbitrator sergeant who seemed to be in command of this particular section of the wall. Our platoon along with much of the 82nd Death Korps was reinforcing this sector with a few companies from the 121st Hoarfell for good measure.

"Alright Korpsmen our duty is to hold this line and prepare for whatever the enemy throws at us. For the Emperor," Watchmaster B-52 stated. Afterward we took up positions along the wall. S-1050 stepped up on the firing step at the same time I did. As a matter of fact all along the defensive line every korpsmen stepped up at the same time. To an outsider it must have looked like clockwork soldiers it was so well synchronized, a true testament to our training, maybe the cruel nicknames the other regiments threw at us were somewhat true.

Looking across the large expanse that made up no-mans-land I spotted the rebel line. It mirrored our own in its ramshackle appearance and extended just as far in either direction. The shear size of the open space which was our battleground amazed me. It stretched for at least a few miles in either direction to the left or right, and at least a quarter of a mile between the two lines. It was like some kind of scar in the unending cityscape. I had heard of hive worlds and the monolithic status of their cities but this was something else and to think that this was one of the lower levels.

As a matter of fact if one looked up you could see the buildings all around stretching upward into oblivion which was mostly blocked out by the expansive crisscross of skyways.

"It is quite a sight," said S-1050 absentmindedly from my left, her head shifting from side to side as she peered cautiously over the walls lip into no-mans-land.

"Yes, it is." I replied back bringing my gaze back down to the scarred mass that was no-mans-land. A hellish obstacle course of razor-wire, craters, and what looked like mud but what was more probably some kind of waste from the upper-levels. Here and there were outlines of scrap-metal where shacks must have once stood before they were dismantled to create both our barrier and the enemies.

It reminded me of the training courses set up by the Korps on Surris for us, only… less cruel and dangerous.

My observations and musings were broken by S-1050's soft voice, "This trooper thinks it saw movement." She said with solid conviction. I peered across the expanse and willed my eyes to look harder. Surely enough I spotted it, a few heads peering over the wall on the far side. Then all hell broke loose from the enemy lines as they opened up with autogun fire, heavy-stubbers, and mortar fire. Then a garbled battle cry as the rebel forces leapt over their wall and began their assault.

"Fire on my order and not a moment before," B-52 yelled at the top of his lungs over the din. Up and down the line Korpsmen got into firing positions. We ignored the weapons-fire going by our heads as a few of the PDF around us took cover. That was what the enemy was counting on, for us to flinch; At least the men of the Hoarfell and Aribites nearby did not display the same hesitation. Men taking cover could not fire back. The respective sergeants and even commissar Veris were shouting at those who were taking cover to get into firing positions and take aim.

Soon the rebels had crossed the halfway point of no-mans-land some brandishing clubs and crude swords in their hands in preparation for close combat. They were a mix of what passed for regular men in some kind of uniform adapted from the garb of sewage workers and blatant mutants. The latter of the two were the ones who mostly wielded the melee weapons. I could see apprehension on some of their faces even from this distance. Others had unholy rage plastered to their features.

Then as they crossed the invisible threshold the order was given, "Fire!" the watchmaster yelled and we opened up. The sharp whine cracks of lasguns filled the air; the one-shot action of the Lucius pattern lasguns of the Death Korps being drowned out by the full-auto chatter of the PDF and Hoarfell, and heavy weapons up and down the line. But our shots were connecting consistently putting down rebels in single hits with exceptional accuracy. The Korps did not believe in waste.

I watched almost detached from my body as I pulled the trigger in synchronization with my breathing. Breath out, shoot, breath out, shoot… the mantra was beaten into us when we learned how to handle our lasguns. Rebels were shot to pieces, literally by the deadly crossfire. Limbs blown away from bodies and faces incinerated; there was little blood as any wound was cauterized by the intense heat of the lasbolts; but the carnage was still immense. Then they hit the razor-wire and many got tangled up screaming as the wire bit into their flesh. These unlucky rebels were used by their brethren as living bridges to get over the wire safely.

Now they were close enough that the concentrated fire of our forces was simply obliterating them, none of our shots missing at this range. Then a break as the middle of their line began a defensive retreat which quickly became a mad dash back to their own lines the entire force faltering. There was a cheer as PDF troopers ceased firing at the sight of the retreat. All of us in the Korps kept firing into the retreating rebels backs cutting them down as they ran; even the Hoarfell and Arbites did the same.

"Fix bayonets!" Watchmaster B-52 yelled. We all did so without pause in meticulously practiced synchronization. The PDF around us looked bewildered.

"What the warp are you doing? They're retreating," complained a sergeant of the PDF to Watchmaster B-52.

He replied appropriately, "Their attack has failed and they are in disarray. It's now or never, we can take their line."

"That's madness there's no way I'm sending my men out to die." The PDF sergeant yelled back jabbing a finger into the watchmaster's chest.

The sergeant didn't even see B-52 un-holster his laspistol. The loud crack reverberated though the air as the PDF sergeant was shot in the head.

"I'm taking command. Now fix bayonets troopers!" the watchmaster bellowed. They followed the order, the fear of the Emperor now sewn in each of them. Commissar Veris appeared at our watchmaster's side. "Well done Watchmaster B-52. There is no room for cowardice in times of battle. Now give the order," Veris said as she drew her power-sword and laspistol.

"Charge troopers, for the Emperor!" Watchmaster B-52 yells as he jumped over the wall Commissar Veris in tow. We all followed us in the Death Korps without hesitation the other Imperial Guard regiments with us followed by the PDF and Arbites. I was in the center of the line with the rest of the Korps following B-52 and the commissar across the bleak expanse, dead corpses of rebels allowing our forces to navigate the razor-wire without getting slowed in its deadly tangles. The massive assault was a spectacle indeed as the combined mass of the Imperial Guard regiments, PDF, and Arbites charged the rebels line.

I was breathing heavy, adrenaline spiking my system and propelling me forward, it was nerves mostly, we were going at a brisk pace sure, but despite them running from us I couldn't help the feeling that I was going to get picked in the head and never even notice. I banished these pessimistic thoughts and continued on, trying only to think about the situation in a disciplined way, just one foot in front of the other, once we reached their line it would be close in fighting, what I was good at.

The rebels themselves were only about halfway back to their lines and we were gaining ground quickly. When we were about halfway across no-mans-land the rebels had finally made it to their own line clambering over their wall and getting into position to fire on us. Their heavy-stubbers opened fire moments later as did they with their autoguns.

But our sheer numbers would carry us through the torrent of fire. Most of which was less accurate than our own due to the fact that the rebel's for the most part used autoguns which were less stable than the standard lasgun and thus not as accurate, plus we all benefited from flak-armor, unlike the rebels in their thrown-together uniforms. As a result less of our men were hit and those that were had a better chance of living through the experience, finally we were able to get within grenade throwing distance.

Allowing my lasgun to fall to my side the sling keeping it on my person I took a grenade from my belt pulling the pin and hurling it in an arc to land on the other side of the enemy wall as did many other Imperials along our line. We were rewarded with a cacophony of booms as the grenades went off followed by screams and the sound or rather lack-thereof of the enemies heavy-stubbers as they fell silent.

Then it was back to charging the line, my feet carried me where I needed to be of their own accord. As I approached the wall set up by the rebels one popped up from behind it. Half his face was missing—most likely due to the shrapnel of the grenades—but it was still contorted in what could only be pure rage.

I was already kneeling down and getting a bead on him as he raised his weapon. Breath out, shoot, the lasbolt slammed into what was left of his face and sent him sprawling back behind the wall and out of sight. Then it was over the wall, holding our lasguns one handed many of us mounted the wall up and down the line. The first of us up began to help others over, getting our troops on the other side as fast as possible. The rebels were scoring hits on us as we poured over their barricade but there were too many of us, we outnumbered them four to one I'd hazard a quick guess.

I saw a familiar mask as I helped S-1050 up over the wall she muttered a quick thanks and I finally jumped down the other side next to her. The rest of our forces were fairing well enough and it was time to press the advantage seeing as we were beginning to take the enemy line. The fighting quickly devolved into close combat as the two forces met. Mutants were hurling themselves at us with their clubs made from rusted pipes and jagged swords fashioned from scrap metal.

I skewered one on my bayonet as he charged his sword missing my masked face by inches as I kept him distanced on the end of my lasgun. S-1050 put a lasbolt through his deformed head and he went slack.

"Thanks." I said wrenching my bayonet from his pallid flesh blood squirting out from the opening. S-1050 nodded barely noticing me, and then proceeded to jam her bayonet into the back of a rebel currently engaged with another of our comrades.

Taking aim at the mass of bodies engaged in close combat I began to take shots carefully trusting in the skills the korps had trained into me, and the endless hours of practice. I took out two more rebels before my power-pack finally ran out of a charge. My lasgun giving a low whine as it failed to discharge another shot, I quickly replaced the depleted power-pack with a fresh one and resumed firing. The fighting was really getting bad, up and down the enemy line Imperials engaged in close combat with the enemy. Rifle butts meeting faces, bayonets gutting men, and even a few chainswords shrieking as they tore through flesh with ease.

As a matter of fact I could see commissar Veris taking on three rebels at once. Shooting the first two through with her laspistol then impaling the last on the end of her power-sword. The man screamed as the weapon—still thoroughly inside his stomach—was pulled downward and sliced his lower regions neatly in-half. Blood and entrails pooling down at his feet before he crumpled; for my part I took out a man sneaking up behind Veris with a lasbolt to the back. If the commissar noticed she paid it no heed as she continued to dominate in the melee. I could even hear her raucous laughter over the din of combat as she cut a swath through the enemy.

Hearing a battle yell to my left I turned just in time to deflect a bayonet thrust meant for my gut. The korps training saving my life, the surprised look on the rebels face dissolved as I bashed the butt of my lasgun into his mouth taking out a few teeth. He rounded quickly snarling at me with his broken and bloodied mouth as I drove my bayonet through his throat turning the snarl into a gurgling gasp of surprise. No flinching, no hesitation just performing my duty as I was trained to.

To my left, as always, S-1050 was firing at a rebel who seemed intent to cleave her in two with a chainsword; he had already taken two lasbolts to his chest. He was almost upon her when I turned and lent my own fire to hers. Our combined efforts bursting his chest open in an explosion of burnt gore. He dropped not two feet in front of us and that was when I was tackled from behind as a rather big rebel blindsided me. We ended up in the mud next to the man S-1050 and I just killed, he was on top of me.

He was huge at least two heads taller than me and probably twice as wide all bulging muscles and sinew. He thrust his knife downward intending to skewer me through the chest. My reflexes barely saved me as I caught his two forearms, the blade inches above my chest. My arms were shaking as he used his superior strength and position against me. Then the force was abruptly stopped and I heard him scream in rage. S-1050 had stabbed him in the back with her bayonet but he was still moving, rounding on her in a second.

He was so fast that the lasgun was still stuck in his back S-1050 having lost her grip due to his quick movement. He gripped her around the throat, intent on choking the life from her, but she pulled her combat knife from its sheath intent on jamming it into his jugular but his right bicep seemed to get in the way and the knife instead jammed itself up to the hilt in solid muscle.

He bellowed in rage but kept on choking her. My lasgun had been knocked away and I grabbed at the trench-axe hanging from my belt, feeling its solid foot-and-a-half adamantium construction in my hand I scrabbled to my feet. I swung at the back of his legs, the monomolecular axe head easily slicing through the tendons and muscle, effectively hamstringing the behemoth; he fell to his knees, releasing S-1050 who gasped for breath. Still miraculously able to think the mammoth rebel turned on his knees to me with surprising speed and I got a good look at him for the first time.

He was a brute of a man with strangely sharp features and it looked as though his teeth were filed to points, his face contorted in unholy rage as he screamed for my death.

"You will not win this war Imperial. We have been oppressed for too long, and we will rise" The rebel roared defiantly.

My hand was shaking, and I didn't even think to respond, the look on his face said it all, my lack of action seemed to confuse him though right before he screamed at me again drawing his fist back to take a swing with the blade he still held. Finally snapping out of it I swung my trench-axe driving the opposite spiked end of its head into his temple, and his cries were effectively stopped as his brain jumbled its connection to his body, which still engaged in fitful spasms.

When he finally stopped twitching I wrenched the spike from his head, his corpse fell forward the hole in its head leaking blood. S-1050's lasgun still sticking out of his back; I wrenched it out with my free hand and walked over to where S-1050 had just begun to stand.

I handed her the lasgun, "Thanks, if you hadn't stuck him this trooper would be dead." I said with gratitude.

"It should be this trooper thanking you, if it weren't for your intervention this trooper would be dead," she said gesturing to the trench-axe in my left hand.

"We're even then." I replied and then I noticed it. The din of combat starting to come to a close as all around us the rebels were completely losing the will to fight. The smarter of them retreating into the mazes of buildings further into their territory and those still fighting being shot and cut down by the still numerous Imperial forces.

Nearby was a thumping sound as metal met flesh and bone. S-1050 and I turned to see a young PDF trooper bashing his helmet into the skull of a still twitching rebel. One of his comrades who seemed to be a veteran came up behind the boy and pulled the boy off of the dead man. The boy stopped his shoulders slumping and his hands going limp, letting go of his helmet. The vet hauled him up to his feet by his shoulders then bent down and retrieved the boy's bloody helmet and lasgun putting the helmet back atop the boy's head and then shoving the lasgun into his chest. The boy grasped the lasgun with halfhearted purpose and followed the veteran to who knows where.

I looked back to S-1050 and we shared a long stare. Soon we were noticed and we were approached by commissar Veris. Quickly we both snapped to attention and saluted the commissar smartly.

"At ease troopers," she said in her authoritative voice. "I saw your little performance. That man was touched by the warp if I ever did see it. Both of you did an admirable job of taking the rebel down. That was some excellent CQC troopers. Then again I don't know what else I should expect from a Korpsman."

"Ma'am these troopers are honored that you would think so highly of them." I said without a pause. Commissar Veris grinned, "Wish we had a thousand more like you two Korpsman. Say what are your designations? Figure I should at least know the name of the trooper who saved my life, and his comrade." she stated with a little bit of mirth entering her tone. It was a bit of a surprise to me that the commissar had even noticed that I had shot the rebel sneaking up on her.

"This trooper's designation is S-1049-82; my comrade is S-1050-82." I stated plainly.

"Ah, replacements from Surris, huh, that makes your actions even more impressive. Well, keep up the good work troopers; I hope to see you well in the future. Also, mark my words; I will repay you for watching my back S-1049. It's always good to have a favor from your commissar, eh?" With that she walked away to wherever else she felt she was needed.

Soon after Watchmaster B-52 came up to us, and again we stood at attention, he saluted back and allowed us to be at ease.

"Designations," he ordered briskly.

We did not hesitate, "S-1049," I stated.

"S-1050," was stated from off to my left.

"Well it's good to see that not all of you were wasted in that meager charge." The watchmaster seemed to mull this over.

"Excuse this trooper's ignorance Watchmaster, it doesn't understand." S-1050 spoke up.

"Exactly as it sounds trooper, your platoon as I remember it under my command was platoon number 12-82 correct?" We nodded accordingly, "yes well as of the conclusion of this small skirmish you two are the only ones I have found intact and able to go on. If I'm lucky the quartermasters will be able to salvage more of you. As it is because of your fortuitous survival you've both been selected by me to undergo further training and eventually specialize. If you survive for it that is." B-52 paused for a moment, letting the new information sink in.

"Congratulations you've both been chosen to accompany grenadiers, an honor undeserved by you wretches. Consider it another part of your training; of course this training is even more likely to result in your deaths. Report to a quartermaster immediately, you'll need a bit of an upgrade to your combat-kits, one is sure to be collecting equipment from our fallen." He handed us each a requisition form for our new equipment as well as forms containing our transfer to Watchmaster B-63.

"Afterwards report to Watchmaster B-63 he'll be your new CO; most likely found toward the eastern end of the line. I've trained you as well as I can, hopefully you wretches will continue to be useful in the service of the Emperor," with that said he saluted us, we saluted him and then Watchmaster B-52 walked down the line to where our forces were already clearing out the bodies to set up our new defenses. The battle seemed to be over as far as we could tell.

S-1050 and I exchanged a look; the saying among the Korps was that if you became a grenadier you've lived too long. Then we looked around, including us there weren't many Death Korps troopers left, at least out of the platoon we were apart of.

"These troopers should get on this." I said solemnly. S-1050 nodded slowly and we began our search for a quartermaster. I picked up my fallen lasgun from the mud as we walked by brushing off the thick brown substance. I was fairly certain it would stink terribly if it wasn't for my gasmask.

Eventually we found a quartermaster easily spotted due to the servitors around him carrying the equipment he was salvaging from the fallen as well as spare equipment for the Death Korps. We approached him and he regarded us as we stopped before his crouched form. He was bent over one of our own, the man still breathing despite missing most of his stomach and chest. Quartermasters were also the medics in the Death Korps. As such it was his job to assess if this wounded korpsman was 'salvageable' he looked away from us and back to the wounded trooper coldly assessing the mans wounds.

"Stretcher over here! I've got a priority yellow." He yelled over to a nearby group of stretcher bearers. It seemed the wounded man would live to fight another day. If the quartermaster had even suspected that the man would not make it he would have said the last rites and shot him on the spot to save resources.

"Right, well then, what do you two need?" He asked all business. We both presented him with our requisition forms and he nodded then gestured for a servitor to come forward.

One of the amalgamations of flesh and steel awkwardly came forward stopping next to the quartermaster and presenting him with the wheeled wagon it dragged behind it. The wagon was piled high with spare uniforms, armor, weapons, and various other pieces of equipment most likely salvaged recently from the dead.

He rummaged through the neatly organized piles and pulled out two identical steel facemasks resembling metallic skulls. These were the traditional motifs worn over a Death Korps grenadier's gasmask to differentiate them from regular korpsmen. S-1050 and I accepted them, fastening the straps around our heads over our masks and using the built-in hooks to attach the metal mask to our gasmasks so they would stay in place.

Next came the carapace armor; S-1050 and I moved our filtration units around to our backs to accommodate the extra armor.

"Sorry, we're a little short on hellguns at the moment, and being you two aren't really full-fledged grenadiers yet you're not really rated to use them. Don't worry; standard issue Lucius is more accurate anyway, and with almost the same stopping power." He said the last part with a little chuckle.

He saluted us, "The Emperor spreads his divine light." He said with reverence.

We saluted back and replied together. "To protect us from darkness," and then he was off again performing the vital task of salvaging men and equipment. Then a thought came through my head, but S-1050 voiced it before I could.

"Wait do you know where these troopers can find Watchmaster B-63?" She yelled after the retreating quartermaster. He turned toward us and pointed to his left, our right, down the line toward the numerous guardsmen now milling about waiting for orders and setting up positions.

"The grenadiers were further down the line eastward. B-63's group anyway; you just have to look for the skull masks and hellguns you won't miss them." And then like that he was back to doing his duty.

We stood there for a moment taking the situation in. I broke the silence, "These troopers should get going. They'll make a better impression if they're punctual." My voice held no sarcasm I was completely serious.

"Right then, let's go." S-1050 responded in the same tone. Then we headed to the east, down the line walking through the crowd of Imperials, a good amount were fellow Korpsmen. Mostly our comrades kept together the PDF, Hoarfell, and Arbites all giving them space. In turn those same comrades gave S-1050 and I space. Not out to wariness like the other Imperials did for them, but out of respect.

Grenadiers were considered the special ops and shock troops of the Korps and given due respect; yet also reviled, considered cowards for not dying when they should have. Even though we weren't full grenadiers yet we were looked upon as such because of the new battle-gear.

It was odd because S-1050 and I were mere regular Korpsmen ourselves. To be shown such respect for what seemed like dumb luck at having survived when the rest of our platoon did not was strange. But I guess I shouldn't be surprised, survival was how one ascended in the Korps.

Eventually we came toward what we could guess was who we were looking for. The grenadiers had been in some of the thickest fighting and it showed, their carapace armor damaged, scuffed, burnt, and dented in places, there were about five of them including Watchmaster B-63. We found Watchmaster B-63 by the rank insignia patched on his greatcoat. He turned to regard us and we stopped several feet from him giving crisp salutes. He gave a slightly sloppy one in return and put us at ease, unusual for an officer in the Korps, at least in our experience so far. We handed him our orders and awaited his response as he looked over the small square forms of paper.

"Seems B-52 is sending me his scraps now. Well no worries, as long as you're both willing to die for the Emperor I don't mind the extra bodies. Designations," his tone was mostly serious, maybe a slight hint of something in there, but I couldn't be sure.

We answered quickly, "S-1049, Watchmaster," I stated in an even tone.

"S-1050, Watchmaster" was said from my left with the same sternness.

B-63 stared at each of us trying to find fault and weakness no doubt, once he seemed satisfied he spoke again. "Right, well I hope you two haven't been tired out by that little skirmish ten minutes ago. Because as grenadiers it's our job to take death to the enemy and it just so happens that we've received new orders. Oh, and in the future don't salute me, at least not in an active warzone, don't want me head to be blown off by a sniper do ya?" He paused, as if waiting for an answer, but after a moment he must have decided that none was good enough. "We are to advance into the area ahead to act as a vanguard for the upcoming push into the rest of the city. We'll likely run into elements of the rebels that have not fled far like cowards." He gestured toward the ramshackle looking city beyond, the buildings stretched up for miles and the streets were littered with rubble.

"Any questions?" No one utters a word as is to be expected, "Right then let's move out korpsmen form up, spread apart, be vigilant. And let our enemies be vigilant as well for death is on their heels now."

With those inspirational words we were off trudging past the multitude of our comrades both korpsmen and other Imperials and eventually into the beginning of the city. It was like static in the air and we all seemed to know that the real fighting would begin soon.

…

"**War's one of those things, don't you think, where everyone always thinks they're in the right have you noticed that? Nobody ever says we're the bad guys, we're going to beat shit out of the good guys." – Caryl Churchill. **

I can't really say what it was that I was expecting but it wasn't what happened. All I'd ever seen of the massive battles the Imperial Guard fought daily in other parts of the galaxy was through vids. As one can imagine those do not accurately show the truth behind the real thing. Surris was my first eye-opener to that fake reality, but then I was just an observer, now I was a participant.

One moment Cain and I were celebrating with the rest of our squad as the rebels retreat and the next thing we know we're being ordered to go after them. We were quite a ways down the line from the blanks but rumor was (I found out later) that they started the counterattack when one of their watchmasters shot a PDF sergeant in the head.

Racing across no-mans-land was something of a rush. Heart pounding, palms sweaty, iron grip on my lasgun, my entire body clenching seemingly getting itself ready to be shot. When we got to the other side I thought it would turn out for us like it did for the rebels. Being decimated by firepower, but as luck would have it that did not happen. We seemed to have the advantage in numbers. People seemed to be dropping around us every second, but I tuned it out, the rush kept me from dropping down and just giving up.

When Cain helped me up over the wall I was greeted by the sight of sheer chaos. Men gutting each other with bayonets, mutants savagely attacking our comrades, biting, and clawing, one made a dive at me with its club I shot it, and then when it fell to the ground thrashing I stuck it with my bayonet so many times I lost count, only stopping when it stopped moving.

From there it was the exhilarating flash of combat; I was sure I'd die on more than one occasion. When you have to bash another human's skull in with the butt of your lasgun, even if they're trying to stab you… it's just not something you feel particularly proud of afterward.

During it all I was vaguely aware of my squad around me, fighting with me, but in the heat of the moment it's usually just you and the guy who's trying to kill you. At least that's how it was for me, and I can't help it, but I liked it, the fighting that is, on some primal level, even though it was in reality much harsher than I had imagined.

It just seemed so at odds with what the Imperium put out there on the newscasts and all the posters, and the vids. Heroes never seemed to have to do the terrible things we were doing. I wonder did they ever feel bad for the man they just left choking on his own blood when they killed him. I know its borderline heretical and these rebels were traitors, but they all just look so human… aside from the mutants they're all the same as me. And most of them where just as scared as I was, and there were even a few who looked like they weren't even out of their teenage years.

I suppose that in the heat of those moments as I was shooting, stabbing, clubbing, or otherwise doing anything in order to kill these people, these thoughts that plague me didn't matter. Is it wrong to say that I found the killing utterly justified when I was doing it and it was my life or theirs? I can't really say for sure, after all it's not mine to question why, right? Plus there was that feeling of excitement, the rush.

The battle couldn't have taken more than a dozen or so minutes once we got into the enemies lines before we won and the remnants of the rebel forces retreated. With the battle over I looked around and spotted Cain who at least seemed better off than I was. He was puking up what was his lunch. I walked over to him but he waved me off, "Just the smell is all." He insisted between spurts of semi-digested paste.

Looking away I noticed Garvel on his back his lower half mostly… gone. Entrails loose and not where they should be, what looked like shards of pulverized bone, and all the blood; his skin was ghostly pale. I don't know how… but he was still breathing as I walked over and knelt next to him.

"Medicae!" I screamed grasping Garvel's searching hand. I heard booted feet coming toward us through the mud, looking up I was greeted by something I didn't want to see at the moment.

A masked face staring down critically at Garvel's injuries, he made the sign of the Aquila and began muttering something which was obscured by his mask. Before I knew it he was drawing his laspistol and aiming it at Garvel whose face was now etched with terror. I made a grab at the pistol, "What the keck are you doing!" I yelled concern for a squad-mate lacing my words.

The korpsman gave me a blank look, the same one they all give when they seem not to understand the actions of those who are not blanks themselves.

"This man's injuries are inoperable with our medical supplies. It would be cruel to let him suffer further and a waste of our supplies in the attempt to save him." With surprising tenderness he pulled the laspistol from my hands. I was so taken aback by what he said that I stood by while he again placed the laspistol flush against Garvel's forehead.

Then I heard him speak the same words he had before. Only this time I actually heard them… they were the litanies meant for those who were about to die and those about to carry out the Emperor's mercy, recited perfectly as they were meant to be.

"Emperor, give me strength to carry out the deed, and Brother, grant me forgiveness for what I am about to do. The end will be swift, and the Eternal gates swing wide for you. Your duty is done, and now I must do mine." He paused for a moment before finishing. "Sweet God-Emperor, forgive your servant his sins, and remember he is just a man." After he finished the rites he squeezed the trigger of the laspistol. A loud whine crack stirred me from my stupor and I regained control of my limbs as I watched him begin to take Garvel's equipment. I was a little riled by the act; he was looting the dead and worse the dead man was someone who I had come to consider a friend.

"He shall be left his uniform but I must take the rest of the equipment. We need to conserve resources and it would be a waste to leave equipment with a dead man when it could save another guardsman's life." The korpsman paused in his actions allowing two servitors behind him to take the equipment from him and put it in carts. "Your friend was a hero; we should all strive to be as brave as he was." He finished by taking out what looked like a pick and chipping off a fragment of one of Garvel's exposed bones.

Then he did something unexpected as he began to leave. The blank put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed; it was a decidedly comforting feeling, or at least I think that was the intent. As he left my attention was drawn away from Garvel's corpse by the sound of smacking flesh and breaking bone. I turned to see a young boy far off a little ways distant, PDF, I reckoned by the uniform; he was beating the still twitching corpse of a rebel with his helmet. The rebels face was unrecognizable and it was obvious that he was no longer a threat. Still the boy probably no more than 16 kept at it until an older veteran came to his side and stopped him.

In the end they walked away together. Where to I have no idea but there it was… the simple insanity of it all. That young boy put in a situation he shouldn't be in, and this was all supposed to be the Emperor's will? Sometimes I wonder if the benevolent Emperor I was taught about really is still alive on Terra. Or is that some tale they tell us to keep us going during dark times such as these.

"Oh boy, some fight huh?" Cain said wiping some bile from his lip breaking me from my morbid thoughts. Then his eye's fell to Garvel's body, "Damn, real shame that."

"One of the blanks shot him… he was suffering." I said stoically. Cain actually nodded with what seemed to be approval or at least understanding, though he looked ready to puke again.

"For the first time I think a blank did the humane thing. Better a quick death than a slow one right?" Cain let the question hang in the air for a moment drawing out like a terrible stench.

It was the right thing to do. I really had to ask myself how screwed-up everything really is if that conclusion can possibly be right. Too bad I couldn't get an answer that day. For the rest of the day or at least what passed for a day inside a hive city we were tasked with collecting the dead and disposing of the corpse's; burn the rebels in one pile burn our own in another. Then we began to reinforce our new position so we had a semi-safe zone before we headed off into the rest of the city to sweep out the remaining enemy forces.

Sergeant Grime directed what was left of our squad. Luckily the only casualty of our squad was Garvel… that didn't make it any better though. While Sergeant Grime and I were moving a corpse (some big rebel who had a hole in his head, it was practically cleaved in-two really) he decided to give me some words of wisdom. "Try not to think about Garvel so much. It'll eat away at you if you do." He paused as we heaved the big rebel onto the top of a pile yet to be set ablaze, "You've got to be all there so you can help the rest of us who are still alive, and otherwise you're a liability."

He walked past me putting his hand on my shoulder as he passed by, "I know we all don't usually see eye to lens with the blanks. Warp, I've had a little over a decade to know. But, what that blank did was the proper thing and I'd expect you do the same for me… deal."

"Sure, whatever you say sarg," I muttered in response. He clapped me on the shoulder again and waved for me to follow.

"Good, then lets burn the rest of these rebel bastards… they're starting to stink."

I followed soon after a slight smirk on my face despite the grim circumstances. Hours must have passed by in what seemed like minutes. It's strange you wouldn't think piling up bodies to burn would be relaxing. But, I have to say that maybe it was just the repetition of the same actions that kept me at ease.

After the stress of the actual battle and bleak questions that followed it was good to do something that would take my mind off of it; which again I have no idea how that worked, but as I was hauling the corpses of young boys onto that pyre of burning bodies I became aware that I didn't really care.

They were trying to kill me just a few hours ago and now they couldn't hurt me. I think it was around the point when Cain came over waving some kind of ration in my face that I came out of my trance. Grime left a while ago on some type of official business and I was taking a short break.

"Fresh paste courtesy of our illustrious cook D-562," he said holding the slop under my nose. I have to admit that at that moment that even that tasteless pink slop seemed appetizing.

"D-562? Why is he here? He's the mess sergeant for Emperors sake." I mumbled.

"Eh, you know those blanks, where one goes the others follow… they're like some sort of badass human form of shemlings when you think about it," Cain chuckled at his own joke. Unable to help myself I gave into the momentary light humor and laughed at the rather terrible analogy.

Taking the paste packet I slurped the contents taking in almost half of the ration in one go. The paste hit my stomach quickly and I hardly bothered to taste the stuff, barely letting it hit my tongue. After a second slurp I noticed… something.

"Hey there's something different about the paste today." I stated matter-of-factly.

"Thought you might pick up on that, turns out D-562 actually used those spices we unloaded." Cain paused taking in my expression, "I know I wouldn't believe it either. When I asked him about it he just said something about not letting us do our duty for the Emperor without good food. Weird, right; who'd have thought something like that would come from a blanks mouth." Cain said as he slurped some of his own paste. From the look on his face he was enjoying the new flavor of the usually at best bland paste.

"Yeah, maybe being in a warzone loosens them up a bit." I said with a slight chuckle. Cain stopped eating for a moment and gave my comment some actual thought for a few minutes.

"You think so?" He paused, "Great now I'm gonna be thinking about this all day."

"Eh, if you're really that interested you could always ask Sergeant Grime." I shrugged.

"Yeah that's not a bad idea Xavier. Not a bad idea at all." He said thoughtfully.

We were interrupted before Cain could give the idea any more thought by the very man Cain wanted to see. "Alright boys finish that up and get your gear we've got a new assignment." Grime stated matter-of-factly.

"What is it sarg?" I asked a tingle running through my spine.

"We pulled recon duty. We're going ahead of our main forces into the city to spot any enemy strong points; also we are to rendezvous with a Death Korps vanguard further in the city in the eastern-most sector. Now come on, the rest of the squad is waiting on us down the line." He walked past us and continued onward to where the rest of our comrades waited for us.

"Wait we're gonna be working with blanks?" Cain sputtered.

"Seeing as you've been working with them since this morning I thought you'd be used to them by now trooper," Grime sighed. Cain and I grabbed our lasguns and jogged after the retreating sergeant catching up to him quickly thereafter.

"Yeah right, I've been living with them for months and I'm still not used to them, and I'm sure I even knew some of them before the conscription." Cain muttered under his breath.

After a walk through the once tightly held enemy line now slowly being turned into our new forward operation base we came upon our comrades… at least those that were left Garvel was obviously not among us. I nodded in acknowledgement to Hack and Eli, as did Cain.

"Okay lads let us get this started and Emperor willing we'll all come through in the end. Now remember our main objective is to scout out the area, which means no shooting anything unless it shoots first. When we meet up with our friends in the Korps be polite and for Emperor's sake remember that if a fight springs up don't retreat unless I give the order. Blanks will shoot you down before you get two steps away from whatever we're fighting. Alright let's move out."

"Cheery," Hack muttered as we entered the edge of the city in a loose formation. The buildings on either side towered above us and stretched on forever, and the streets were littered with rubble and debris. What seemed to once be store fronts or hab complexes were now converted into run-down hovels and it was hard to imagine that people actually lived down here.

"Damn, I can almost understand why these people would rebel." Hack muttered.

"Yeah, that's all well and good Hack but don't go voicing that opinion around the blanks, at least not when I'm standing next to you." Replied Eli offhandedly.

"Keck you Eli!" Hack spat vehemently in reply as we continued our long walk down the seemingly deserted street.

"Quit it you two," Grime said tersely. "I think there might be something up ahead."

Grime motioned for us to spread out even farther apart and he motioned for me to approach the left-hand corner up ahead. I did so at a quick jog putting my back to the cracked and grimy wall when I got there. Grime and the others formed up behind me and Grime made another motion for me to look around the wall. Slowly I peered around the corner and found… nothing glaring back at me.

"I don't see anything," I reported back to the sergeant.

"Alright boys false alarm maybe I'm just old and paranoid. Better to be safe then sorry though." Grime sighed as he walked ahead around the corner. We all followed close behind before Grime motioned for us to once again spread out in a loose v-formation with him at the head.

For hours we crept through the broken streets coming upon nothing. Either the rebels had hidden well, or they were far off setting up new positions elsewhere. The emptiness of the city was disconcerting to say the least. Not hours before we had engaged in a huge assault against a good number of the enemy and now it was as if they up and vanished.

"This normal sarge? Cause this don't seem normal." Hack stuttered out nervously.

"Never know with rebel forces lad. They're a tricky lot; sometimes it's an all out assault other times they just disappear into the wood-work. That's why we're here; it's our job to find out what they're up to and report it back to command. Also, pray to the Emperor there's not some sort of chaos cult," Grime replied.

"So what do we tell them now? That there's no one home?" Cain asked incredulous.

"Nah, first we gotta meet up with the blanks. Then we make the call; speaking of which you be ready when I give the order Xavier," Grime stated motioning to the vox unit on my back just before the whine crack of lasfire sounded not too far away.

"Hmm, looks like we found them." I muttered amusedly.

"Yeah, looks like it. We are in the right location according to the maps." Grime replied.

"Plus who else but the blanks could actually find a fight in this ghost town," Eli added.

"Move out," Grime took off at a quick jog and the rest of us followed. We were fast approaching the sounds of fighting and they were only getting louder and fiercer with each step we took.

Soon enough we came upon the source of the fighting. Blanks fighting against a few dozen rebels, both sides were firing at each other from across an open street. The burnt husks of wrecked auto-cabs littered the road providing cover for both sides. The rebels didn't notice our arrival and were pre-occupied with the blanks; leaving their left flank exposed to us. Sergeant Grime gave a few swift hand signs, we all took up positions behind nearby auto-cab husks Cain was with me, and Hack was with Grime. Grime motioned for Eli to go farther back to provide sniper support with his long-las.

Once we were all in place Grime gave the silent order and we all opened fire. The rebels—surprised by the sudden attack—turned to engage us. A few of them stood up to try and seek better cover from the new threat of our weapons. In the process they were shot down by the blanks for their trouble. I watched as one pirouetted after taking a shot to the side of his face. Miraculously he was still alive and screaming as he went down.

I was firing my lasgun in short bursts and racking up quite a few hits myself. Under the combined fire of both our fire-team and the blanks the rebels were decimated in mere moments. When the last of them fell to the ground the blanks moved in to secure the rebels former position and round up any stragglers.

There were a few groans coming from where the rebels lay on the rockcrete. The blanks finished these men with bayonets to the chest or neck. The rebels tried in vain to ward the deadly blades away from them but were ultimately powerless. Add in the fact that the blanks were unflinchingly ruthless and it was over in a fleeting few moments. By this time Grime had ordered us to fall in on him to link up with the blanks.

"Emperor, why stick 'em. Why didn't they just shoot them?" Cain whispered from my left side.

"Simple… the korps does not believe in waste." This was stated by what I guessed was the commanding officer of these blanks.

An errant groan was heard from behind them and the lead blank turned.

"Damn rebels. They're like roaches." He seemed to sneer through his mask, "S-1049 please take care of it." I instantly recognized the designation, Jericus.

"Yes sir." Stated Jericus from the lead blanks right. I watched my attention grabbed as my old friend now dressed in a slightly different uniform turned and walked calmly toward the figure of the last rebel trying to make a feeble escape crawling across the street. Jericus walked toward the crawling man and gave him a swift kick in the side pushing him onto his back. The man issued a tortured gasp of pain as Jericus had agitated his severely burnt side with the kick.

"N-no p-please," the man begged putting his bloodied hands up feebly in defense. From the sound of his voice and the look of his youthful face I'd say he was barely out of his teenage years. But Jericus, if he cared at all, didn't show it. He didn't even utter a sound as he drove the end of his bayonet through the young mans sternum. The young rebel issued forth a gurgle as he looked down at the long knife in his body.

As he reached for it with shaking hands, a horrified look on his features, Jericus twisted his lasgun thus twisting the bayonet and ensuring the man would die. As he pulled the bayonet from the soon to be dead youth the teenager issued another pained noise, something between a gasp and a gurgle. Then the youth's body finally went limp as the life left his still shocked face.

With his task done Jericus walked calmly back to his squad and resumed his previous place. He gave me a look… I think I couldn't really tell. The metal skull motif fashioned to his gasmask further alienated him from a human.

"Watchmaster B-63 I believe we have business to discuss." Sergeant Grime stated pulling me from my staring contest with Jericus and toward the conversation about to occur.

"Yes, now that the enemy has been dealt with it will be nice to know what you and your scouting party have discovered." Watchmaster B-63 said briskly.

"Not much I'm afraid the rebels don't seem to be on the western side of this block at all. I'd say the bulk of their forces have retreated farther north into the industrial sector of this level." Grime paused for a moment, "How 'bout you? Obviously you've encountered some resistance."

"Yes… and not only in this area. We've had several skirmishes on our way here. But, I agree with your assessment. I believe the bulk of their forces have retreated farther north." B-63 paused as if considering something, "I believe we should continue our pursuit of the rebel forces. Provide command with as much information as we can."

"Agreed, I'll have my vox operator relay the news to command. Maybe see if we can get support from the Randon. Their aerial drop troops will come in handy if we run into a force too big for us to take on our own." Grime responded quickly.

"Proper thinking sergeant," B-63 gave a curt nod of approval. Sergeant Grime had me vox in the news and information to command before we moved on. With that our combined forces began to move northward toward the industrial sector and toward thousands of rebel troopers. I'm sure I wasn't the only one in the squad whose stomach froze at the thought. Sergeant Grime had that stoic resolve as always, forged from years on the frontlines. The blanks as usual just didn't seem to care… including Jericus.

**A/N: Aye I know first person again, sorry to those of you who may not like the perspective, but I felt it might be good to really get the characters perspectives on their first actual taste of combat. Hope the action didn't disappoint, there'll be quite a bit more in the coming chapters as well.**

**Please kindly R&R ladies and gentlemen, give me your feedback, it gives me something to strive for, yes? A special thanks to ArdanTheWolf, TheImperious, drSpliff, and BIBOTOT for the reviews, see you next week.**

**300-709.**


	6. Sweet Serenade

"**To give the faceless a mirror is a heinous crime,"-?**

Being on the frontlines and now in training to become a grenadier of the 82nd was something truly life changing. Then again everything since I was conscripted has been life changing, the training, mental conditioning, and now the fighting all had a part in it. Thank the Emperor I met S-1049; I don't think either of us would have made it this far without the other, though I have the feeling he needs me more than I need him.

The hardest thing I've had to do so far hasn't even been fighting the battles. It was when I visited my family on our last day on Surris… well I was glad S-1049 was there to keep my resolve strong. In retrospect saying goodbye to them would have been much harder if not for the training. The Korps had prepared us for it; I still remember Watchmaster B-52's speech before we all left for our last day on Surris.

We were lined up in tight blocks in proper numerical order as usual when he began. "As you all know after today you will forever leave this world behind to fight for our holy Emperor. I ask only that each of you spend your last day on your world with discipline and dignity as any Korpsman should. Tell your guardians and loved ones, if you have any that you are to be heroes." He paused as if remembering something and then the strangest thing happened. Watchmaster B-52, this unwavering machine that molded us into what we are now spoke in a soft tone very unlike the always stern and even voice we all had come to know well. "Remember to report an hour early before the other regiments for departure… The Emperor protects."

With that he had dismissed us to spend the last day we would ever get on our home-world. Those few hours with my family should have been frightening, sad, or any number of things which they weren't. I just went through the motions… it was like watching myself in the third-person outside of my body. As if I had control but all the emotions, the _real_ feelings were muted.

Except for the contentment I felt because of S-1049. Is that really all right though? Shouldn't I have _felt_ something… sure I put up a good front with the hugs and all but it was like a conditioned response… not something I _really_ meant?

Anyway that's all in the past now, I have to keep strong for the future. We've come so far already S-1049 and I. Now being trained by Death Korps grenadiers we've got our work cut out for us. I have a feeling what we do from here on out will make that first charge seem like an easy task by comparison. It all seems so sudden and abrupt; it wasn't a promotion per say, but I can't help but feel that we're not really ready for this. We shouldn't be among these other men and women; after all we only survived one charge they must have all been veterans of the most horrific kinds of battles.

Speaking of battles we had just wrapped up our fourth one not moments ago. Since the beginning of our advance into the city beyond no-mans-lands we had encountered no more than three instances of resistance. The first two we took care of with little trouble, the rebels we fought were merely boys and girls, maybe a smidge younger than S-1049 and I. They were undisciplined and we had caught them off guard, taking them out with the concentrated fire of our weapons quickly enough.

The third and most recent skirmish had been a little more… difficult. The rebel forces we encountered were what appeared to be veterans of the short conflict. They were able to draw out a short firefight with us, utilizing cover effectively enough that we couldn't get at them outright.

Then S-1049's old friend Xavier showed up along with the rest of his unit. We had heard that we were to meet up with a recon team from the 121st Hoarfell. However, it did come as somewhat of a… surprise that it had been Xavier's squad.

Anyway, when they arrived on the scene the effect was immediate. From the rebels left flank they had concentrated their fire taking down a good number of the dozen or so rebels. The rebels began to panic seeking cover from the new threat and in doing so sealed their fate as they exposed themselves to us. The fight was over in seconds with no casualties on our part so far in the mission.

For once I was… glad to see guardsmen other than those of the Korps. If Xavier's unit hadn't arrived when it did we very well may have lost a few of our number. And as any good Korpsman will tell you the Korps does not like waste. We will need as many able bodied guardsmen as we could get for what was to come of that I am certain.

After a brief moment of Watchmaster B-63 and Sergeant Grime discussing what to do next and Xavier voxing our current situation in to command we were again off into the sprawling city. Toward the Northern industrial heart of the underhive we went, intent on evaluating the rebel threat it posed as well as causing as much disruption to their operations as we could.

Moving through the clogged yet still massive streets of the underhive it was hard to imagine that loyal servants of the Emperor had once resided here. The plascrete was covered in some sort of muck, probably run-off from the industrial district. The closer we got to the district the more prominent the muck got which didn't bode well for us.

It was all so different from Surris, this world wasn't open at all, the air was cold, but it wasn't fresh. The city despite it's illusion of size and openness still made me feel closed in and cramped. I threw these thoughts out of my head quickly to focus on the situation so that I could perform better if we came into contact with an enemy.

In all likelihood it meant that the rebels have been using the manufacturing capabilities of the industrial district to maximum effect and were arming their troops with whatever weapons they could cobble together.

There was movement… but only in the corners of my vision. From the way everyone else was tense I could tell that the others could see it too and had the same feeling of being watched as I did. If it were rebels we'd already have been fired upon, so that left civilians. Most likely scared and not knowing which side to back.

Then again that wasn't my concern, they would probably be purged anyway once this was all said and done, regardless of whether they were rebel sympathizers or not. The seeds of rebellion had been planted partially in the inhabitants minds and once they rooted they were hard to get out. So nothing short of total extermination would do… at least that is what some of our superiors would have us believe.

Like any good trooper I would not question it if the order came down. Just had to shut it out; keep my mind occupied with other things while my body did the Emperor's bidding. I could tell that this was the difference between S-1049 and me; he couldn't stop thinking, even though he wanted to.

The streets began to converge at some kind of main junction as we neared the industrial sector. The broken auto-cabs gridlocked and the hab-faces looking down upon the street crumbled, rubble and debris providing good cover for an ambush. However, none came and we continued on, treading carefully as we finally entered the district.

Watchmaster B-63 motioned for us all to drop and we did so, seemingly in unison. The impact of falling to the rockcrete was dulled by my new carapace armor. The guardsmen from the Hoarfell were close behind us, they seemed to disappear in the rubble because of their loose ragged uniforms and cloaks; after a few silent moments the reason for our sudden stop came into view. A few dozen rebels were running from an opposite block and merging onto ours, right ahead of us. We were outnumbered four to one by the look of it.

They seemed not to have noticed us as they ran toward the industrial sector, the manufactories now in view, probably stragglers from our first engagement clambering to regroup with the main force. Once they were a ways past, nearly out of sight beyond the wreckage of the city, Watchmaster B-63 motioned for us to stand and stay put for the moment while he went over to the Hoarfell sergeant to discuss what I guess our options were.

Soon we were on the move again and at a brisk pace toward the largest of the factories in the sector. Once we were as close as we could hazard without the rebels being able to spot us we set up in a nearby Hab. It was in shambles and obviously had been long abandoned even before the uprising. From there we began to map out the area; our squad secured the area. The Hoarfell troopers conducted a limited recon of the immediate area before reporting back, we regrouped at the Hab. Watchmaster B-63 and the sergeant were discussing an attack plan while the rest of us were taking a quick rest.

Those of us in the Korps mostly kept to ourselves. Some like me ate small protein bars, smuggling them under our masks quickly. A few others slurped protein paste through feeding tubes. The Hoarfell guardsmen including S-1049's friend Xavier also kept in their own group, although they were livelier than we were. They were using the moment of downtime to play a quick card game whilst chatting with each other.

Maybe I was feeling bold, curious, nostalgic, or keck I don't really even know but something possessed me to get up from where my group was and go over to theirs. S-1049 gave me what was probably a look of concern; I couldn't be sure though because of the mask. The other grenadiers didn't really show much interest or concern and if they felt it they didn't voice their opinions. Crossing the small room quickly I stood in-front of the Hoarfell squad not moments from when I first stood up.

My lasgun was pointed in a non-threatening and safe position at the floor of the hab and my posture was ready but not ridged. Xavier was the first to take notice of me and when he looked the others turned one by one as well to see was the fuss was about, 'what the in the warp?' must have gone through their minds as they took in the sight of me. One of them even seemed to give me a dirty look, though I think I may have misinterpreted.

"Uh, we movin' out? Cause I figured the sarg would get us." One of them asked. It was a valid question and given their experience with the Korps so far, it really was to be expected.

"No, this trooper was just wondering if it could participate in your group for a moment." My voice wasn't unpleasant, but it was flat and devoid of much enthusiasm. They all gave me a look except for Xavier who seemed to be contemplating something.

"Say what?" Finally answered the man who had questioned me before, Xavier quickly cut in.

"I think," Xavier started with slight amusement in his voice, "she wants to play a hand with us Cain."

The one who I now knew as Cain turned back to me from looking at Xavier with a not unpleasant surprised look upon his features. "Oh, sure I'll just re-deal the cards then. Come on guys hand 'em in." There were groans and minor protests from the group save for Xavier and Cain.

"You're just doing this 'cause it saved you from losing Cain." Stated a rather skinny looking fellow with a long-las by his side, I noticed it appreciatively; I was a very good shot myself and had often wanted to specialize and become a sniper. Being a grenadier now I might actually get the chance to do just that if I survived long enough.

"No that's just your paranoia Eli. You're lucky she came along when she did, because I was 'bout to win." Cain said with a flourish of his hands as he skillfully shuffled and dealt the cards again now for five players instead of four.

"Yeah right you have a tell so easy to spot that it's almost sad to play against you," replied another man with some humor in his voice and a smirk on his face.

"Hey I do not," countered Cain indignantly.

"You really want to talk about tells Hack. Every time you think your in trouble you rub your left ear." Xavier put in off-handedly.

"Way to give it away to the rest of them Xavier thanks a lot," Hack spat back.

I was still standing as all this was going on; hopelessly lost with something I couldn't quite place bubbling up in the pit of my stomach. Xavier finally noticed, "Hey you gonna stand there, or are you gonna play?" He asked a slight but seemingly sincere smile on his face. The others looked to me expectantly, even the one who had seemed to dislike me the most Eli…at least I think it was Eli. I hesitated for a moment before finally sitting down placing my lasgun to the side within easy reach should I need it.

Cain dealt me my cards; I accepted them and then the game began. I didn't quite understand at first, but then realized that it was just a slight variation of some old childhood card game commonly played on Surris; trying to bluff your way through the rounds to convince the other players that you had the higher hand. They could call you out if they felt you were lying thus resulting in a standoff of sorts. If their hand beat out yours in terms of value you lost and were out or vice-versa.

The game was one of deception and cunning, gauging your opponents on their movements, expressions, and other similar 'tells' by which to determine if your opponent was indeed bluffing. The rounds went by quickly and I found myself winning quite often, only Xavier seemed to be keeping up with me in terms of when I was bluffing or not.

"Alright, I think I speak for everyone when I say that the mask is an unfair advantage." Eli stated aloud as he threw his cards down after losing for the third time to me. "I mean I have no idea how to tell when you're lying, for all we know she could be making faces at us from behind that thing."

"I second Eli's concern. Though I doubt she's mocking us." Hack replied evenly.

I knew instantly what they were trying to get me to do and I really didn't want to.

"This trooper is not taking off its mask," I stated evenly.

"Ah come on it's not like we're asking you to curse the Omnissiah, or violate a statue of the Emperor here." Eli said with dramatic hand gestures, "Just asking you to give us a fair chance at winning."

"This trooper's answer is still no." I replied calmly.

"But…" Eli was cut off quickly.

"Leave it alone Eli, it's just a game no need to get bent out of shape." Xavier said

"Yeah man she doesn't have to be taking off her mask just because you're losing so badly." Cain put in jovially.

Eli sighed, "Yeah sure whatever."

The game went on in silence for a while until Cain broke it "So, what's your name?"

The question was clearly directed at me and the others seemed to perk up at this save for Xavier, probably because he already knew what I was going to say.

"This trooper's designation is S-1050-82." I replied. They all gave me looks, they probably suspected I'd say something along those lines but were hoping for something different.

Eli was the first to speak up, "I think I speak for everyone when I say he meant the name your parents gave you."

"Yeah, you were born on Surris right?" Hack added.

"Yes." I replied in return.

"Okay then what's your name?" Cain questioned again.

I paused; it was like an itch you can't scratch. The answer was on the tip of my tongue but I couldn't for the life of me get it out, it took a while for my response to come forth. And when it did come out it was something along the lines of, "I uh…"

Hack seemed to pick up on it, "Emperor what did the Death Korps do to you guys?"

"You had a family right? How about you tell us about them; if that would be more comfortable for you," Xavier said trying to salvage the situation.

"Yeah, I'll go for that, it'd be good to hear about some people from home," Eli put in.

"Okay." I started tentatively, "this trooper had a father, mother, and one sister. We were like most families, this trooper's father and it worked at separate parts of the manufactorum. He was a supervisor and this trooper was just a line worker." I paused for a moment to consider something I couldn't quite place. "…Mother stayed home with this trooper's little sister Sila. Father and this trooper used to return to home cooked meals each night."

"Hmm, well least your family is still alive right? Mine got killed in the artillery strikes during the early part of the war," stated Eli somberly.

"Yeah, same here, some of 'em anyway," Hack added.

"The war took something from everyone." Xavier said solemnly.

"Yeah and if it didn't than the draft sure as keck did," Cain stated with a snort. The rest of the group chuckled slightly at that; I didn't know why, it was true.

"So S-1050 how you and Xavier's friend meet," Hack questioned with some mischief in his voice.

"Oh for Emperors sake really Hack?" Eli said indignantly, "you don't have to answer that." He said the statement clearly directed at me. The meaning behind Hack's question was not lost on me, had we been on Surris and I was asked that question by one of my friends I may have stuttered out some response or another… but that was before; now I simply stared with little outward indication of what I was actually feeling.

"S-1049 and this trooper met in training, as you may have noticed we're one designation number apart," I stated evenly. "We started talking at night. Neither of us could sleep, this trooper supposes; the training was… difficult, to say the least." As I stopped talking for a moment the group stared at me the game momentarily forgotten in as they took in what I had told them.

"So, why did you talk exactly?" The question came from Xavier as he threw down a card nonchalantly trying to keep a sense of normalcy. I could sense the piqued interest coming from him though; he knew he was going to get some insight into what had happened to his friend from a closer perspective than he had.

"S-1049 had more trouble adjusting to it than most of us I think." I paused for a moment contemplating that for a moment… it was true. "He still has a few slip-ups. Luckily a watchmaster has not been present for them. The fact that we converse with each other as we do is very much looked down upon… but can at least be tolerated."

"Slip-ups, how do you mean. Guy seems just like the rest of you to me; especially with the way he wasted that rebel." This surprisingly grim statement came from Cain who thus far seemed as friendly as could be.

"He does hide it well; however, if you look at him closely you can tell that all of this… everything that's happened since the conscription has been chipping away at him." I stopped for a moment and then my stoic voice broke, "I'm afraid what might happen to him. From what I've seen he'll get through this and be stronger for it… or he won't." My voice held strong and even despite my worry about the subject.

"What about you?" Xaivier questioned with surprising sternness.

I stared at him blankly for a heartbeat. "What do you mean?" It was an unnecessary question I knew what he meant… I just didn't want to answer.

The look in his eyes was that of plasteel, "I mean do you feel the pressure like my friend? You talk like he's a weak link, as if he's not worth the gear he has strapped to him. Do you blanks even care about each other? If he was killed tomorrow what would you do? I bet you'd keep going as if nothing even happened right. I guess words like comrade don't 'compute' to you blanks. Do you even know his name? Or is he just a number, a masked face to you so you won't feel anything when he dies." Xaiver didn't raise his voice but the venom in his voice conveyed that this had been building up.

"Hey, Xavier that's a bit harsh don't you think?" Cain started, Xavier glared at him, and he was quiet.

"I do know his name." I stated quietly from where I was, "and I'll never forget it, because I know he'll remember mine for me. As for your question, I've been afraid every hour we've been in this city. Afraid because if S-1049, your friend… if Jericus died then I wouldn't be able to remember my own name. If he died I'm certain I wouldn't be far behind him. He's stronger than I am… than any of you." My tone was firm again and filled with steeled resolve. It was true, S-1049 was stronger, maybe not the kind of strong that the Korps wanted, but stronger nonetheless.

Xavier just stared at me his expression hadn't changed; the others seemed a bit thunderstruck. I put my hand down, picked up my lasgun and walked back to where I belonged. As I approached S-1049… as I approached Jericus, he turned to me and tilted his head slightly in question. I shook my own head no, he nodded, and that was the end of it. I sat down next to him on the floor a little closer than what was appropriate. At the moment though I didn't care and not even the Emperor himself could have told me to get up and move from where I was.

Jericus took the strange behavior in stride, or at least he seemed to on the outside. However, I could tell that he was slightly worried about what had transpired. His next action startled me and almost made me jump… thankfully I didn't and on the outside I seemed calm and collected. But Emperor I was surprised when he placed his gloved hand atop mine and it stayed there. The other Korpsmen around us paid it no mind, their attentions directed elsewhere, ever at the ready for something to happen.

These Korpsmen around us were veterans of quite a few campaigns; we were the new fish barely out of our pond and yet we had by dumb luck been thrown into the ocean and told to survive.

Either we would or we'd be eaten… and our comrades didn't really care either way. Emperor I wish I could be like that, it would make all of this so much easier. I feel like I can be, I know that I can be like them, and in some ways I already am. What scared me though was that Jericus wasn't like them, couldn't be, not really, he just won't let go. But, that's what made him strong, that resolve.

As I told Xavier he had the most trouble adjusting. On the outside he kept up a pretty good front… but I knew him better than what he projected. I've only known Jericus for a handful of months and yet I feel as though I know him better than my own family members. I find it odd too, considering that when we first met he unnerved me a little. Obviously that passed quickly enough as we progressed through training and spilt blood together in battle for the first time.

"Alright you wretches, Sergeant Havlock and I have charted the best course of action." Watchmaster B-63's voice broke into my dismal thoughts. "We are to split ourselves into four man teams, each carrying a melta-charge. Then we are going to infiltrate the nearest manufacturing plant and place the charges on anything vital." He finished, at this point Sergeant Havlock took over.

"According to the information we've gotten from command the nearest plant is actually supplying munitions to the rebels. Destroying it will cripple their efforts in this particular sector, if not then at least it will soften them up for the main force. Command has also approved our request for Randon assistance. On our word the boys in red will be grav-chuting down to cause havoc and draw attention toward the manufacturing plants northern entrance." The sergeant then let Watchmaster B-63 finish.

"Yes and while this diversion takes place we will move in and complete our objective. Sergeant Havlock and I have already selected the teams. They will be mixed between our forces so as to promote a diverse set of skills to each team. When you hear your designation numbers please go to your assigned comrades."

The next few minutes passed quickly as we were assigned to our four-man squads. Whether by luck or the Emperor's will S-1049, Xavier, Cain, and myself were put in the same squad. Oddly enough Xavier seemed to be displeased by this. Even given our prior altercation I thought he would like to be close to his former friend.

The next phase of the plan had us all moving stealthily through the street just outside the Hab we were in to the point where we were to split off into our groups. It had all been worked out in advance, Watchmaster B-63 giving a silent gesture and we were off on our pre-determined routes. All of which lead to somewhere in direct opposite of where we were going to call in the Randon strike force to distract the rebels.

A series of squelches across the comm. lines signaled that we were all in position; S-l049, Xavier, Cain, and myself currently behind cover in a narrow alleyway adjacent to the eastern side of the manufacturing plant. There seemed to be a few token rebel guards keeping watch from the side entrance to the plant proper. They seemed little more than boys in the same ragtag uniforms favored by the rebels, said uniforms seemed to be too big for their almost emaciated forms.

Then as we waited a series of squelches from the comm. line were heard, in the silence they seemed to bounce harshly off the rockcrete walls of the ally around us. It was the signal that meant the Randon forces had been notified and were about to deploy. The vox operator known as F-920 from our grenadier group had done the honors as he was in the same squad as Watchmaster B-63 and Sergeant Havlock.

These thoughts vanished from my head like a wisp of dust on the wind when seemingly out of nowhere all hell broke loose as the Randon forces arrived at the northern entrance of the plant.

**A/N: Alright, so next chapter things get actiony again for those of you bored easily (I jest, take no offense :)). For those of you worried about any romantic aspects between Jericus and Fenria worry not, if it happens it most certainly won't be anytime soon. Besides I personally view their relationship more as symbiotic than anything, these are two individuals that latched onto each other to get through something very difficult and traumatising and their bond is strong because of it.**

**Kindly R&R ladies and gentlemen. One thing I noticed that was strange, seems around twenty or so readers skipped chapter three and went straight for four, why is that? Surely it can't be that bad of a chapter right, granted it was mostly exposition but still... anyway leave your feedback if you please. See you next week.**

**300-709.**


	7. Leap of Faith

"**Flying is simple. You just throw yourself at the ground and miss."- ?**

This is my first combat jump… that's all I think of as I stand in the Valkyrie, my grav-chute prepped and ready. My bright red uniform complete with full helmet—currently with its polarized ballistic faceplate down—made me doubt myself. It felt like I was a bright red screaming target. And according to my drill sergeant in basic that's exactly what I was supposed to be. Being in the somewhat cramped space of the valkyrie with about a dozen or so other troopers didn't help with my doubts; especially since the veterans had been hazing the next recruits.

When Surris' sons and daughters where called upon by the guard my name was drawn and so I was conscripted into the 145th Randon Drop Troopers, 'Splats' for short. Specializing in hard-hitting airborne assault tactics, our drill sergeant made it clear that the color of the uniform represented the blood spilt by previous generations of drop troopers. The veterans say our uniforms are red so that if we go _splat_ the color will match the blood and guts.

Suffice it to say none of this did anything to stop my stomach from trying to dig its way out of my body where it sat. To think that on Surris I was a daughter to a high-ranking Manufactorum superintendant. Strange how the war made everyone equals; I was drafted and sent to fight along with even the lowliest of line workers. I was supposed to inherit my father's position; with no sons and my mother dead—Emperor rest her soul—he had been grooming me for it.

Then came the orks, the guard, and the conscription; and now here I am waiting to step out of the Valkyrie _'Twisted Grox'_ and fall into what seemed a bottomless abyss of tangled skyways and buildings to assault a manufacturing plant and be the distraction for a bunch of ground-pounders whose job it was to blow it up. How could my life have come to this?

My name is Raltia Lupa and this is going to be my first 'hot jump' as the veterans say. The pilot thumps the metal door to the cockpit three times… the signal to our sergeant that we're about five minutes from our drop point. Of course this calls for Sergeant Aenid Joss to make an inspirational speech to all twelve of us. I have to admit the blood colored armor looks imposing on her, ballistic faceplate up, her striking features marred by a single scar down the left side of her face starting from her temple, down across her cheek, and ending at her jaw-line. Even with the scar she looked good… no wonder the male veterans were so 'inspired' by her.

She abruptly cut off my thoughts as she began to speak. "Alright boys and girls, in about four minutes the doors are gonna open and we are gonna make the leap of faith." She paused for a moment looking in my direction where I and the other rookies were. "This is for you new people. You remember your training; you'll make it… maybe. Don't worry, the boys, and I'll look out for ya down there." She paused and flipped her faceplate down its shiny polarized visage completing the look.

Abruptly she thrust her left fist into the air, "gory, gory." Her proclamation reverberates through the small space.

"Helluva way to die!" The veterans answer back thunderously. A pre-battle tradition, rookies aren't aloud to participate in it until after their first combat drop. The three rookies, me included all fidget and seem reluctant around these vets.

The flyboy gives five taps on the metal door and the _Twisted Grox_ opens up as we make our final approach. We all stand making final preparations to our specially made skeleton lasguns, checking our grav-chutes, and firmly securing our spike-hatchets.

"Feet first boy and girls; see you splats on the ground!" And then Sergeant Joss is gone having hurled herself from the now hovering valkyrie. We rookies have been strategically placed in-front of the rest of the vets so as to discourage any second thoughts. Even if we had any they'd still push us out, as their jeers and frighteningly cheery comments remind us. I feel my guts clench as I near the open portal, the footfalls of my boots and those of the others thunderous against the metal floor.

Time seems to slow down as I finally step out of the _Twisted Grox_ and then I'm falling… all while thinking that this is my first drop. Gory, gory right? The cityscape surrounding us is a blur as we plummet toward the objective. I think I can see the Sergeant; she seems nothing more than a speck of red. I find myself in awe; this hive city is so big! I thought the manufactorums on Surris were big, but city 34 makes them seem like ants in comparison.

My training tells me that I only have about ten seconds of fall time before I have to deploy the chute. I can hear the other rookies breathing heavy through my vox link, the vets are a mixture between shouts of exuberance and almost maniacal laughter. Three more seconds according to my internal count, it feels like an eternity. Two, my hand is reflexively reaching for the deployment mechanism. One, I hit the switch and I suddenly feel like I'm floating instead of plummeting to my death. The ground is only seconds away and I can see the sergeant already on the ground along with other Randon troops from our squad setting up an offensive pattern. The manufacturing plant is only about fifty yards away and the rebels have already noticed us and begun to shoot.

Another few seconds and my feet hit the rockcrete, I feel the impact rush through my legs, and before I can recover my training has me reaching for my lasgun. I make my way to the sergeant, take position in the pattern, and make a squelch over the vox-line to signal my landing. Everyone is waiting for the order to go, not one will advance until everyone has landed. I hear the series of squelches as I wait the precious few seconds for the others to land. We're crouched low to avoid the worst of the enemies' fire; abandoned autocabs and rubble provide good cover.

There is a sickening sound to my right, a cross between and thump and a wet crack. I look over and see a crumpled red body on the ground, blood seeping in a vague outline around it.

"There goes one of the new bloods," was heard from my left.

"Shut it Flair! Get the tags. The rest of you advance and concentrate fire on their center." This voice was Sergeant Joss. Her voice seemed distant, even though I knew she couldn't be that far away. The vets around me began to advance, staying in the loose wedge shaped pattern we formed upon landing. I feel frozen to the ground my hands are shaking, the lasgun in them sounds like some cheap toy clattering around. I can't take my eyes off the body.

"Rookie! Get your shit in gear and advance with the formation!" The veterans admonishing remark is like a boot to my hindquarters. My head snaps around and I see that he is looking back at me pointedly. Even through his faceplate I can tell he is not pleased with my distraction. I nod dumbly and then quickly run to where I'm supposed to be in the pattern. Once there it's as simple as firing when the veterans do in the general direction of the enemy. After all we're just the distraction; we don't really have to kill anything.

"Lets send these rebels to the warp boys, ha,ha,ha"

Unfortunately all Randon born troopers seem to be psychotic; so I'm probably gonna have my first kill today whether I want it or not… or I could go the way of that other rook. I don't think I even got to know his name; they group us randomly with veterans from the regiment, so the friends I made aren't even in the same squad as me.

These thoughts fly through my head in seconds as my body works on pure instinct in the outside world. I fire my lasgun in bursts, just like the others on the line. Every once in a while I'll hear a staccato of sustained fire before the Sergeant reminds whoever is doing it to stop, rather loudly I might add.

I'm starting to be able to see the rebels now, their heads popping up from behind their fortifications every so often to gauge if they can kill one of us before we kill them. The autocabs and chunks of rubble are starting to get scarce and our assault is starting to slow down. I keep pleading for it to stop in my mind, if only so I can hopefully live through this. The vids are such a lie, there is no sense of glory in me, only fear that the next shot in a rebels autorifle is for me.

I see a head pop up from the cover of the rebel barricade and instantly adjust my aim to the bright blond hair standing out against the grey backdrop; I notice the face is surprisingly young and looks about as frightened as I feel. A burst of fire from my lasgun later and the rebels head seemingly _pops_ like an overripe melon. There is a surprising amount of gore despite the lasbeams cauterizing effects. His body slumps forward, lifeless and falls in an undignified heap over the rebel line. I pause in my firing for a second… this is my first kill.

I feel a kind of guilt, even if the boy I just killed was a rebel; it doesn't change the fact that he was just a boy, probably younger than I am. It is not long before the vet from before notices my pause. "Rook start firing, Emperor damn you before I shove that lasgun up your arse!"

The gruff demand gets me back into action and I continue my part in the assault. We've gained quite a bit of ground now and the battle seems to be turning in our favor. The center of the rebel line seems to be imploding on itself because of our concentrated lasfire. Frightened rebels start to retreat further into the manufacturing plant proper; they're cut down, shot in the back as they run for the supposed safety of the doors.

Now our advance has stopped, we make due with the cover we have. Sergeant Joss holds up her arm, fist closed to signal the end of the advance.

"Alright, boys and girls can't get any closer. Once those charges go off you don't want to be near that building, unless you wanna be a red smear." She stated. Our section of the line stopped afterwards and the other squads followed soon after.

Now we where just pouring on the lasfire to keep the rebels at bay and keep them oriented in our direction; it's a good thing they don't seem to have mortars. The fighting continued on like this for a while. Trading volley's of fire as each side tried to take out the other. It wasn't long before the rebels seemed to notice that something was off, their attacks seeming to become even more spaced out and almost hesitant.

Then a slight hissing sound barely audible over the sounds of battle, followed by a much louder cacophony of roaring blasts as the melta-charges finally went off. The rebels recoiled with fright as the manufacturing plant behind them began to collapse. They seemed to forget all about us as most turned with stupefied expressions on their faces. I too watched on, more amazed that the enemy had literally turned around and was now ignoring us. It was then that I was yanked down by none other than Sergeant Joss herself.

"You wanna get smeared rook!" She snarled through clenched teeth. The meaning was lost on me, sure I was looking in the direction of the enemy and slightly out of cover, but the enemy wasn't paying attention to us. Suddenly a new earth shattering series of blasts which dwarfed that of the melta-charges was heard, and an unholy heat seemed to roll over the cover we had as the blastwave made its way outward from the source.

My body felt like it was being baked under the hot sun of some distant world on a particularly hellish summer day; I had never felt something so hot, Surris was frigid on a warm day. Oh well, at least I wasn't on fire, after the roar of the flames and explosion died down I gathered my senses. I looked to see Sergeant Joss peering cautiously over our cover, after a tentative moment I stood up slowly to join her, as did the others.

"What the keck was that." I whispered, my voice trembling. Sergeant Joss turned to me, the smooth visage of her ballistic plate obscuring any expression.

"That is what happens when you set a couple of melta-charges off in a manufacturing plant filled with munitions." She replied, amusement clearly evident in her voice. I looked at her and felt my head nodding dumbly, as if of its own volition. She chuckled slightly at my action, "rooks, you all act the same,"

Now the destruction before us held my full attention. The huge manufacturing plant was now a blown-out husk, the structures few remaining supports giving it the look of a giants skeleton. Dust seemingly saturated the air—no doubt the remains of the now decimated structure—I coughed a bit, the ballistic plate of my helmet did little to filter the air. Looking to either side of me was kind of creepy; the many guardsmen looked like ghosts in the dust filled air. The fact that we all had our polarized ballistic plates down made the scene even worse to look at.

Kinda reminded me of the guardsmen from the Hoarfell regiment calling the Death Korps blanks. You couldn't see our faces either… then again those I've met so far in the Randon 145th don't act like borderline servitors. No, they all seem a bit too unhinged to be like the blanks.

Anyway, the area was in seriously bad shape and at the moment everyone seems to be waiting for the order to move out. The tension from the silence is starting to eat away at my already thin resolve and it doesn't seem to be letting up. I can't help myself; Sergeant Joss is right next to me. What could be the harm in asking, right?

"Ma'am, what are we waiting for?" My question is straight forward and in a low tone, again barely above a whisper. I can't help it; it seems to be a nervous habit.

She doesn't even turn her head as she answers, "We're waiting for the team that set the charges. They are to rendezvous with us here… if they survived the blast that is. As it stands they have a timeframe of ten minutes, otherwise we have to leave them behind."

I nodded, even though I know she isn't looking at me or expects a response. I go back to looking at the husk of the building and the dust choked air seemingly swirling around it. There doesn't seem to be any life in the dying flames of the building and I have serious doubts that the team who set the charges made it out in time.

One thing was for sure the rebels who had been guarding the manufacturing plant were definitely not going to walk out of that. Listening closely I could pick up pained moans coming from the wreckage of the plant. And taking a more thorough look into the fogginess of the dust I could make out a body, one of the rebels no doubt. Seems I was wrong, one of them did seem to survive the blast. The man staggered around in a daze; the details were lost in the all obscuring dust, but I could make out that he was missing his right arm. He also seemed to be clutching a stomach wound.

He held up his arm toward something and before anyone said anything the sharp crack and flash of a lasgun broke through the scene. The lasbolt flew straight through the man's skull, punching out what was the back of his head. Then following the spectacle shapes began to appear in the haze. Sergeant Joss made a quick hand signal, the one meant to say 'aim, but don't shoot until I say so'. Everyone obeyed; it probably wasn't as organized as usual because of myself and the other rookies. Still, the approaching figures were all lined up in our sights, and ready to be put down at a moments notice.

"Halt!" Sergeant Joss yelled out, clear even with her faceplate down. The figures about a dozen of them or so all in a loose formation similar to us stopped. "State your rank and designation or we will open fire." Her voice carried clearly over the ambient sounds of the destruction in-front of us.

"Watchmaster B-63, 82nd Death Korps grenadiers, along with elements of Hoarfell 125th Rangers," the figure at the head of the formation answered back.

"Approach slowly." Sergeant Joss responded, very business-like. The figures began to come forward until finally they were visible through the haze. The Skulled masks were distinctive, there was no doubt that these were Death Korps; the few tattered olive green uniforms and scarves among them constituted the elements from the Hoarfell 125th and further confirmed their identity.

Sergeant Joss made another gesture and we all averted the muzzles of our lasguns from our fellow guardsmen. "Sorry B-63, can't be too cautious, you understand?" Sergeant Joss said with some hint of grim humor.

"Completely…" The Watchmaster paused for a moment. Luckily the sergeant caught on quickly.

"Sergeant Joss," she supplied.

The Watchmaster nodded, "I suppose we are to head south to join up with the main force then?"

"Those are my orders B-63." Joss replied without much enthusiasm.

"Very well then, lead on Sergeant Joss." The Watchmaster said with a slight gesture.

"Alright Watchmaster, just give us a minute if you would. New bloods, step forward!"

I had almost forgotten about this part, being a new blood I have to go and find my first kill, dip my hand in its blood, and put the print on my chest plate. Every Randon drop trooper has to do this; supposedly it's a long standing tradition. Our chest-plates even have a white circle on it big enough for the print to fit in; luckily it's really the action that matters more than finding your actual first kill. Still staring at the thick dust wall ahead of me I can't help but feel a little scared.

I fight it down and step forward, my hands shaking a little, looking to either side of me I can see that I was the only new blood left who had been assigned to Sergeant Joss' squad.

"You know what to do new blood," Sergeant Joss stated plainly.

"Sergeant, is this necessary? We're pressed for time here, enemy forces may very well be converging on our position as we speak," the Death Korps Watchmaster speaks up.

"As necessary as your lobotomy was blank," Sergeant Joss spits back, and then turning to me. "Well, get it done new blood."

I hesitate, and then I'm shoved forward by the vet that had been berating me the entire battle, finding my footing again I walk forward into the dust. The debris crunches softly under my feet, I can see the enemy line just ahead, the dust finally thinning out a bit. As I near the makeshift enemy line I finally see the bodies, most are crushed under fallen chunks of the manufactory.

I note that even when it was whole this manufactory would have easily fit inside the first sector of Manufactorum Glanis back on Surris… with plenty of room to spare. I shake off the errant thoughts, my mind is trying to distract me from my grisly task, and I can't wander for too long. Finally I come to the body I'm looking for, I don't really need this ones blood, any fallen enemy would do, but this is the boy I killed. I know because half his head is gone, but the strangely vibrant blonde hair still stands out, just as it did when I ended his life.

His body is small and judging from his size I could guess that he had to have been no more than fourteen standard years old. I kneel next to the body, lifting up my face-plate as I do; the vets said you have to look into the face of your first blood with your own face un-obscured as you take your reminder. They say it's so that the spirit of your first kill will look over you and keep you safe, I think it's crazy, but better safe then sorry, and I could use all the protection I can get... even if it's from a dead man.

I place my left hand into the giant wound that mars the young boys face, I really push it in despite my squeamishness, and to my horror it's like placing my hand into a bowl of stew. What remains of his gray matter squishing and squelching beneath my palm, and it's warm too. When my hand is liberally coated in his blood I pull it out.

Staring at it I could scarcely tell where the red of the blood stopped and the red of my uniform began, I guess the vets were right, the color is to make our deaths look less nasty. Finally with a wet smack I slap my hand onto the pure white circle on my chest plate, staining the virgin color with a dark red palm print. Then I take out the spray can given to me before we got on the _Twisted Grox_ for the drop, I coated the white circle and bloody palm print with a generous amount of the spray.

It was supposed to stick to the blood and preserve it so that the trooper could never forget their first blooding. It must really work because Sergeant Joss' handprint still looks fresh as the day she put it on her chest-plate.

I stand up with a relieved sigh, this was actually the hardest part of the entire drop, at least to me it was. Giving one final glance at the boy I shudder and then put my face-plate back down. Finally I turn to make my way back to the rest of my squad, we still have to get out of here.

**A/N: Okay, so hope you readers liked the chapter, I felt the action was serviceable. Kindly review if you have not already, and if you have I wouldn't say no to more ;). Thanks to all that have favorited and put this story on alert, and see you next week, or maybe midweek... depends.**

**300-709.**


	8. Facing the Reflection

"**Did you ever wonder if the person in the puddle is real, and you're just a reflection of him?" - Calvin and Hobbes**

The chatter of autorifle, and lasgun fire broke through the cavernous expanse of city 34 as the Randon troopers began their distraction. We waited until the few rebels guarding our particular side entrance filtered away toward the sounds of battle. Then we made our move, crossing the distance as quickly as we could in a low crouching run so as to avoid any stray weapons fire.

The entrance led into the dank interior of the manufacturing plant; from here it was really guess work. Best case scenario would have us find the ammunition stockpiles, blowing that to keck would definitely take out a good chunk of the plant. If not that than any supporting structure of the building, or at least automated manufacturing equipment would do. Our vox channels were set to receive updates from the other teams and to coordinate our exfiltration. The main hope was that we would go unnoticed until the charges went off.

We went through the halls of the plant as quietly as possible. Xavier and Cain fairing better than S-1050 and I, they didn't have carapace armor to keep from clinking, and clacking. The halls were oddly barren of enemy activity, so the Randon troops must be giving the rebels a hell of a show. If the sounds of the fighting were anything to go by then that would be a sound guess.

"Kinda quiet for an important enemy position eh?" Cain muttered from the rear position. I barely heard him from point, not to mention I was on the lookout for those enemies who weren't there at the moment.

"You would think they would protect this plant a little better." Xavier supplied. S-1050 shushed them as quietly as she could manage and we pressed on, the corridors of the facility seemed to be pressing in on us as we went deeper. We were nearing our destination… I could feel it. A squelch came from our vox links.

"This is B-80, squad three. We've come across a main support column of the plant and are in position to set our charge when ready, over and out." The news was good, now all that was left was for our team to find one of the objectives. Not minutes after the first message came through another followed. Squad four had just run into a few stray rebels. They reported the situation was resolved and continued on. Watchmaster B-63 sent out a message to be wary for further enemy contact, not that we really need him to say so.

Finally the corridors opened up into a vast room in which supplies were being stockpiled via rebel muscles and machine. It seemed like one huge ammunition dump. I held my hand up and motioned for everyone to stay low and out of sight, there were about half a dozen rebels in the room. Luckily most seemed to be unarmed, probably former workers who didn't necessarily want to fight on the front lines to support the cause. Still there were a few armed guards up on catwalks surrounding the area.

Not good for us, being that they held the high ground. Not to mention one errant shot and the ammunition dump may go up in a brilliant blaze along with us.

"Jackpot," said Cain with some enthusiasm.

"Yeah, but those damn guards up on the catwalks are a problem. Not to mention any of these floor workers could have a sidearm we may not be able to see, so their all one major problem." Xavier replied, thoroughly killing Cain's short-lived merriment.

"Way to be a downer Xavier," Cain muttered back.

I cut in quietly but with purpose in my tone, "This trooper counts about four up on the catwalks. It and S-1050 will take care of them. Our Lucius pattern lasguns are more accurate and the charge more powerful, so we can't fire upon any of the rebels working with the ammunition, too much of a risk that the lasfire will go through them and set off the piles."

Xavier nodded, "Alright then Cain and I will take care of the rebels on the ground then." He turned to Cain, "We should also turn the charge of our lasguns down a bit to cut down on the chance of penetration." Cain nodded in response and they began to fiddle with the mechanisms of their lasguns.

"Remember what Sarg said, double tap for each man. Low charge means we can't take the chance for one shot to work." Cain replied, his tone very serious, and thus very unlike his usual self.

"Yep," Xavier responded quietly back.

"Okay then, on this troopers mark." I pause for a brief moment, letting everyone get ready for action, "three, two, one, mark!"

We all spring into action quickly, S-1050 and I firing up at the catwalk rebels. I take out one with two shots to his chest, but adjusting my aim I find that S-1050 has already taken care of the rest. Shaking off my slight surprise I adjust aim toward any rebels on the floor while S-1050 continues to scan the catwalks.

Xavier and Cain have taken care of the most of the rebels on the floor, or so the bodies with autorifles in their grasp would have me believe. Scanning the floor I see a few rebels with their hands up in surrender, Xavier and Cain paused on them.

"Wait, we're not with the rest," said a woman, her voice quavering a little.

"Yeah, the rebels just used us for labor 'cause we know how to operate the machines." Another supplied.

"Please, I have a family," pleaded a third.

The situation seemed to be getting out of hand there were about five of them and they didn't present a hostile threat. Unfortunately I wasn't really sure how to proceed, and apparently neither was anyone else around me. I did the only thing I could think of… I reported the situation to Watchmaster B-63.

I tapped into the comm channel, "S-1049 reporting, Squad two. We have non-combatants here, requesting orders on how to proceed, over." We all waited eagerly for a response. Lasguns trained on the rebels… or were they? The reply came through moments later, although it felt like an eternity.

Watchmaster B-63's response was clear and curt, "trooper, there are no non-combatants, over and out."

"Understood," was my reply.

He left no room for argument, the tone was clear and his meaning was obvious, yet Xavier and Cain still held their fire. The moments seemed to drag out with no clear sign that anything would be resolved. I hesitated, unsure what to say, Watchmaster B-63 was clear on the matter. No non-combatants.

Had we been able to without possibly setting off the ammunition—and thus a chain reaction of explosions prematurely—S-1050 and I would have already eliminated the rebels. I was about to try and remedy the situation when S-1050 beat me to the punch.

"What are you two waiting for? You heard the Watchmaster." She stated somewhat blandly. Xavier and Cain still held fire, though now the rebels were quieter and their eyes pleading toward the only two unmasked Guardsmen in the room.

"You can't be serious, Emperor, those two look like kids." Cain stated first, gesturing to the two young teenagers of the group of five. One Surris it wasn't uncommon to begin work in the manufactorums at a young age, so it wasn't a surprise that the manufactories here were the same.

"Our orders are clear." I supplied.

"Then why don't you do it." Xavier shot back.

"These troopers cannot, our weapons might set off the munitions behind the rebels." S-1050 stated in her matter-of-fact tone.

"Emperor damn it," Xavier seems to mutter through clenched teeth. "All of you move to that wall, now!" He motioned for the rebels to do it with the muzzle of his lasgun, he and Cain both tracked the rebels as they moved. The rebels complied and were now up against a nearby wall, hands still up and still unarmed.

I wasn't entirely sure what he was up to until he dropped his aim. "Right, there you go. Their not in-front of the munitions anymore, Cain and I aren't gonna kill non-combatants in cold blood. So there you go S-1049, lined up against a wall and ready. You blanks can have the honor, 'cause I'm sure as keck not doing it. Come on Cain; let's go set the damn charges." Xaiver finished and then began to walk away toward the munitions piles, Cain close behind with our two assigned melta-charges in hand.

"That's a dereliction of duty." S-1050 supplied from my left, she already had her sights trained on the rebels.

"It doesn't matter let's get this over with," my response is lacking in enthusiasm. I fully understand what Xavier is saying, but it doesn't matter, our orders come from the Emperor himself. There are no non-combatants, not in city 32. I turn and take aim with her, finger on the trigger, "I'll take the two on the right."

I find myself rationalizing this due to the fact that S-1050's is a better and faster shot than me, and can take down multiple targets faster than I'd be able to. I notice her slight nod of affirmation from the corner of my eye. We seem connected as we both ready to open fire, communication was silent but understood easily, on the count of five…

"Please," the woman pleaded. I was counting down in my head when suddenly I realized I couldn't go through with it. No non-combatants? These were just innocent people, like my family, there was no way I was going to be the cause of their deaths, worse this wasn't blind artillery fire, it was me aiming to put a lasbolt in their heads. I pointed my lasgun at the ground.

"Stop, I can't do this." I said to S-1050 clearly through a private vox-link. She turned sharply to me and gave me what I can only assume was a perplexed look.

"The Watchmaster was clear on the situation." She stated, though there was a hint of slight relief in there. She wanted me to say we didn't have to kill these people. If I said it would be all right then she would be glad to let them go, orders be damned.

"This trooper doesn't care, this is wrong," I stepped forward slightly, the civilians looking at me with frightened eyes; they couldn't hear what we were saying. "Get out of here." I shouted firmly.

They stood there in slight disbelief, their hands lowering an inch at a time. I motioned toward an exit on the far side of the room. "Go now; you have about ten minutes to get out before this place gets blown to keck. Don't head for the main entrance, go out a side exit."

The two men ran, but the woman stayed for a moment. "We won't forget this, I promise. You did the right thing guardsman, thank you." With that she ran toward the exit.

After we let them go we found Xavier covering Cain as he went about setting the charges. We walked up to our two comrades, Xavier giving us both a look, he hadn't heard any lasgun shots, and he probably thought we stuck them.

"Is it done?" He asked with distain in his voice.

I hesitated, my voice stuttering a little, an old habit from childhood, "T-this t-trooper could not do the deed. The civilians are on their way out of the manufactory." He gave us both a slightly surprised look, and then a small smile graced his features.

"Well then, might still be somethin' under that mask then…Jericus." I shrugged; I wasn't really sure how to respond to that.

Luckily there was no time for awkward silence since Cain cut it off at the get-go. "Alright, charges are set an' ready to blow this place to keck," Cain stated brushing his hands against his fatigues.

I was thankful for his fortuitous interruption and responded automatically. "Good, this trooper will inform Watchmaster B-63, and get information on our exit plan." It took seconds to inform the Watchmaster and within moments we were exfiltrating the manufactory. We were to rendezvous with teams three and four at a main corridor junction which would supposedly lead out to a side entrance close to an adjacent structure next to the plant which would provide adequate cover for the ensuing collapse.

Once the charges went off the squads were to re-group at what would be left of the main entrance to the plant and rendezvous with the Randon strike-force. Everything was going according to plan. We took off down the corridors and like a funnel we poured into the main junction to the awaiting teams three and four.

From there we all knew our objective, get out of the manufactory before the munitions blew it to the upper levels. The remaining corridors went by in a blur, we didn't come across any resistance from rebel troops, and we were at the side exit within what seemed to be scant minutes.

Stopping for a moment at the door and stacked up without a word being passed. The two veteran grenadiers in teams three and four communicated through basic hand-signals so that everyone would understand. Once we were stacked and ready the lead grenadier gave the signal and we went through the door, covering every possible direction we could. After a moment of silent hesitation more hand signals were issued and we got into formation ready to cross the open space to the structure across from the manufacturing plant.

Again the two lead grenadiers signaled for us to cross as they covered the directions the rebels may come from. As it was it seemed the Randon strike force had them thoroughly occupied. We crossed the rockrete at a brisk pace, once we reached the opposite side S-1050 and I covered the same area the veterans had and allowed them to cross with some confidence.

Once we were on the opposite side of the street we sought cover behind the structure that was to be our haven. It seemed to be an old storage warehouse, and it seemed sturdy enough despite it seeming to have been derelict. I over heard the grenadier leading team three make contact over his vox link.

"This is B-80, teams two, three, and four accounted for and in the clear. Awaiting your arrival team one, over," he stated briskly. I heard the static filled reply faintly as he was addressed in turn, "copy team one, over and out."

Moment's later team one was within sight as they came down the street a little ways from the back of the manufactory. We made sure to cover them as they made their way over to us. Watchmaster B-63 and Sergeant Havlock jogged at the head of the squad consisting of them along with vox-operator F-920 and trooper F-888.

"Alright troopers time to get into cover. Those charges should be going off any second now." Sergeant Havlock stated, we all did as instructed and made the best use of the cover we had. "Speaking of the charges, F-920, better vox the Randon, let them know the show's about to start."

F-920 quickly relayed the message to the Randon officer. Not too long after we heard the firefight which had been raging in the distance die down a little as the Randon strike force began to get into cover in anticipation of the detonation.

B-63 was the next to speak up as he began counting down the time till detonation. "Alright troopers, in five, four, three, two, on-" He was cut off as the world erupted into heat and noise I ducked my head down and averted my gaze from the bright light, so my retina would not suffer any damage. For a moment I thought our cover had not been adequate enough as the warehouses structure and the ground trembled, but my doubt was unfounded as after a moment the heat died down and the noise abated.

Looking up I saw the Watchmaster and the Sergeant gazing at what was left of the manufactory, though I doubt they could see much through the smoke which had been kicked up from the pulverized structure, after a moment of consideration both the Watchmaster and Sergeant gave the signal to move-out.

As we walked through the debris and smoke I noticed that Xavier and the rest of the Hoarfell had tied the scarves which all Hoarfell had as part of their uniform around their mouths, as well as put on their goggles to help with the dust. Not as effective as a re-breather or gasmask, but it would do. I silently wondered why they didn't use their actual re-breathers, after all they did have them, and it was basic issue guard gear.

As we got near what had been the front of the manufactory we began to see the bodies of the rebels. Most were partially crushed from debris, others burnt by the heat of the explosion, a few still twitched in their death-throws and groaned. We paid them no notice; they weren't long for this world.

Then we came across a stumbling figure in the smoke ahead. From what I could tell he was missing his right arm, the stump charred and his uniform practically fused to his skin. He was clutching his stomach, where there was a jagged piece of metal embedded in his gut. Finally his eyes fell upon us, most had their lasguns raised and ready, the man…no, the boy not more than 16 groaned at us, a pained expression on his face. He held out his one good arm, his hand up in a halting gesture, as if asking, 'please, mercy.'

I was surprised when it wasn't one of the 82nd who opened fire; instead Sergeant Havlock shot the boy in the head. His already charred face mangled further by the las-bolt and the back of his head exploding outward. He fell forward hand still held out toward us and finally fell face first to the ground, the remains of his head glistening despite being cauterized by the heat of the las-bolt.

Sergeant Havlock shrugged unapologetically; the man likely wouldn't have made it with medical treatment anyway, and besides he was the enemy; at least in these circumstances.

"Halt!" A voice yelled out from the area in-front of the manufactory. "State your rank and designation or we will open fire." Her voice carried clearly over the ambient sounds of the destruction around us.

"Watchmaster B-63, 82nd Death Korps grenadiers, along with elements of Hoarfell 125th recon," B-63 responded quickly.

"Approach slowly." The voice stated clearly over the pop and crackle of debris and fire. Finally we got within visual range and the distinct bright red uniforms of the Randon came into view. Their blast-plates down, the red-mirror surface obscuring their faces—, they call us blanks?—, and their lasguns aimed at us. Another brief moment and as they recognized us the officer in charge, now easily identified as a woman, signaled her troopers to lower their weapons. They did so accordingly and the tension in the air was diminished save for the ever present threat of the enemy.

"Sorry Watchmaster B-63, can't be too cautious, you understand?" The Randon CO said with some hint of grim humor in her voice.

"Completely…" The Watchmaster paused for a moment. Luckily the Randon caught on quickly.

"Sergeant Joss," she supplied.

The Watchmaster nodded, "I suppose we are to head south to join up with the main force then?"

"Those are my orders Watchmaster B-63." Sergeant Joss replied without much enthusiasm.

"Very well then, lead on Sergeant Joss." The Watchmaster said with a slight gesture.

From there we began to form up in a loose formation. Death Korps grenadiers on the outside with their heavy weapons, Randon covering us from the middle and the Hoarfell loosely dispersed where they were needed. Their recon skills weren't needed at the moment so they stuck with the grenadiers on the outside. Their lasrifles having a bit more kick then the Randon issue carbines.

It was a ways back to the frontlines of the war. We didn't anticipate coming into contact with too many enemy troopers, most should have already fled in the wake of the advancing Imperial line. In my mind I had no doubts that our victory in this city would be swift and was in sight.

**A/N: 'Nother chap up for the chopping block... if there is one, I'm starting to doubt it. Kindly review my readers, if you've been following up till this point (and I know there are a good amount of you reading each new chapter) then surely you'd want to leave a bit of feedback, even if it's just making me feel good about myself, or pointing out a flaw/inconsistancy/whatever you feel the need to comment on. Irregardless I'll see ya next week, on a side note I've been playin' Destiny in a lot of my spare time, anyone else think it's good?**

**300-709.**


	9. The Messes of Men I

**A/N: Sorry for the tardiness with the update, time got lost on me for a bit there, been playin' too much Destiny lol. Kindly read and review.**

"_**Here is the test to figure out if your mission is finished: if you're alive, it isn't"- Death Korps proverb**_

We had one day of rest a little ways behind the frontlines. S-1049 and I were still adjusting to our new comrades; Watchmaster B-63 was a lot less stringent than we were used to. At least when it seemed to come to R&R, we did a few drills early in the morning, a few CQC exercises, but then he just decided to have the squad have a 'bonding' experience, as he liked to call it.

Basically we had to get to know whom we'd be dying alongside; the Watchmaster seemed straightforward enough, though he was certainly…eccentric for a Korps officer to say the least. He looked every part the strong soldier of the Imperium, tall, easily dwarfing S-1049 and I, he was at least two meters in height, and broad shouldered. The way he wore his carapace armor made it look as though he hardly felt its weight. And throughout it there were various scratches, scorch marks, and one very big dent in the very middle of the breastplate.

The other grenadiers were all were wearing similar battle-scarred armor, one of them being nearly as tall as the Watchmaster himself. The other two were around the same height as S-1049 and I, though maybe just a bit taller, Surris had a slightly higher than average gravity so most Surrins were a bit shorter than average.

We were sitting down around a hastily set up table, eating some rations to keep our energy up for the day. The paste was actually fairly tasty, seemed as though it had some kind of flavoring as opposed to the usual blandness. We were actually at the site of our first battle, in the former enemy fortifications, the bodies had already been cleared by the time we got back from our foray into the manufacturing district.

Now the combination of Korps, Hoarfell, and Tartarian PDF had set up the base and most were milling about doing something or another. At the moment the guard had the enemy rebels on the run, their manufacturing capabilities were supposedly crippled in this sector and we seemed to have shattered their main lines. Tomorrow we were to deploy again to root out any further pockets of resistance along with a large number of the rest of the 82nd and Hoarfell. Supposedly the Randon had been making periodic drops behind enemy lines to soften them up ahead of the main sweep.

Once everyone was nice and settled Watchmaster B-63 decided to speak up. "They'll tell you that you shouldn't get to know each other too well in basic so that if your close friend gets pasted on the battlefield you won't freeze up." He stated, "but take it from me, knowing who you're fighting with and being able to form a strong bond with your comrades will get you out of a lot of sticky situations and increase all of our survival chances…so you two are from Surris if I remember, right?"

That caught us off guard, S-1049 seemingly didn't know what to say, I wasn't that far behind him in that line of thought. Luckily B-63 decided to help us along with the introductions.

"Right, well we'll start with introductions. Kinda just jumped into the fray before we could all get properly acquainted. As you know I'm your illustrious Watchmaster B-63, the fellow to my left is Corporal B-80, and those two gentlemen are F-920 and F-888 respectively." He paused for a moment allowing the information to sink in as we stared at each of the grenadiers in turn. "In case you're wondering B-80 and I come from Baurin, and the other two come from a nice little backwater known as Faur-Tertiary."

"You call our planet a backwater B-63? From all the stories I've heard from you and B-80 about Baurin you two were nothing but mill-workers and hunters on a lightly inhabited forest world." F-920 cut in with some mirth, F-888 actually chuckled at his friend's little jab toward our commanding officer. S-1049 and I were waiting for the Watchmaster to enact disciplinary action.

For a few moments it seemed like that was what B-63 was going to do, but then he bursts out laughing. Actually laughing, the scene was almost unreal, but the muffled sound coming out of his mask was indeed laughter, in all our time thus far in the 82nd there never once seemed to be any hint of camaraderie until now…except for between the two of us that is.

"Well, as I recall at least Baurin was a civilized planet; whereas yours was barely above feral status." B-80 interjected. "Anyway, enough about us, how was your world lad an' lass? Before the invasion that is, don't know if either of you have noticed yet, but when you're fighting to save a world you seldom notice the larger picture of it."

"Yeah, all I noticed about Surris was that I was freezing my vitals off and my lenses were frosting up while I was fighting orks. Wasn't exactly pleasant that planet of yours, no offense of course," F-888 spoke up.

A brief pause followed F-888's observation, I was actually about to answer the Watchmaster's question before S-1049 beat me to the punch. "Yes, Surris, was…cold. This trooper is sure you had noticed that. Outside of the cities the plains stretched on endlessly though, this trooper is unsure if you all fought out on the plains. But, during sunset it seemed to this trooper the most beautiful rock in the galaxy. Outside of the cities the sun would reflect off of the frost and ice on the ground, the colors of the sunset seemed to dance like liquid flame across the ground. Many on this trooper's world would say that you could see the Emperor's magnificence at work during those times."

S-1049 was silent after that small comment and left the grenadiers with time to contemplate what he said, it was certainly odd, very poetic even. It wasn't long before the Watchmaster decided to make a comment; he seemed the talkative type, strangely enough. "Aye, know what you mean, nothing quite compares to the sunset on your own homeworld. Take it from me; you get to notice many good sunsets on the many worlds of the Emperor. You are right though if I remember right Surris did have quite a spectacle when we got time to take notice of it. Orks hardly let up though eh?"

"Got that right, wretched xenos were dug-in tight on Surris. Bastards hardly gave us a choice when it came to the cities." B-80 stated, turning to us both regret entering his voice, "I am sorry if either of your homes were destroyed in the barrages, or if you lost someone dear. I know it won't make either of you feel better, but I have it on good authority that it was necessary. If there had been any other way the higher-ups would have taken the alternative."

I noticed S-1049's fist clench slightly, though he nodded in response civilly. He knew B-80 was being sincere, but his wounds were still fairly fresh. Even with our training and indoctrination I had noticed that whenever I had mentioned home he would become slightly bitter. I also noticed Watchmaster B-63 take notice of S-1049's clenched fist, a small wave of panic flowed through me like the cold winds of Surris.

"Little tense there trooper," B-63 questioned lightly, S-1049 didn't respond.

"Trooper S-1049's family was lost to the artillery strikes sir," I added helpfully.

"Ah, well as B-80 said before you have our sympathies. May your family find peace by his side, the Emperor protects." B-63 finished with a sincere tone.

"The Emperor protects," the other grenadiers echoed after him.

"This trooper is sorry its personal issues shall not affect its behavior any longer." S-1049 responded his body relaxing, the muscles un-tensing, "those events are in the past, and this trooper has a debt to repay the Emperor."

"That's very good to hear S-1049, I'm sure you'll get to do just that. Bit of advice, try, and accept your loss. Trust me when I say I know what you're going through. B-63 and I along with only a handful of others are all that's left of Baurin, it was wiped out by foul xenos I hope never to have to face again, despite that we carry on with our duty to the Emperor," B-80 stated solemnly.

"This trooper is sorry for your loss," S-1049 replied.

"Well received trooper, now what say we get away from this melancholy talk," B-80 said jovially.

"Yeah, how 'bout you two tell us what this 'keck' word is all about? I've been hearing you Surris recruits muttering it under your breaths whenever I get close enough, sounds like somethin' ill-mannered," F-888 questioned amicably.

"On Surris the keck is a seasonal wind storm, in the cities you don't really have to worry too much about it, but out on the plains it kicks up ice shards. Anything caught out in the open gets shredded, anyway over the generations it's just become a way for Surrins to say that a situation is out of hand," I paused for a moment. "Though there's strong superstition that it's bad luck to talk of the keck, so it's actually very much frowned on and considered an extreme curse in Surris culture."

"Bad luck? Don't tell me you lot are as superstitious as these two," F-920 questioned gesturing to B-63 and B-80. B-80 gave the Faur-Tertiary descendent a playful shove, meanwhile B-63 just seemed to glare.

"It's just something parents tell children so they don't develop bad manners," I replied.

"Oh, well I suppose it's not as bad as these two with their little ritual before deployment, I'd say it was borderline heretical if it weren't for the fact that it involves the only hard drink you can get on the_ Ipsum_," F-920 stated.

"Yeah you Faur boys sure do like your liquor. Though I'm not sure how you can stand to really drink that Hoarfell crap, only reason I drink it is for the luck, and when I'm really desperate," B-80 said.

"If it is alright, this trooper would like to know what this ritual is," S-1049, spoke evenly, a hint of curiosity was in his voice.

"Well no big secret there trooper, any Baurin worth his fathers name has to have a drink both before, and after a war. It was considered good luck on our world, meant you celebrate what might be the rest of your life going in, and then thank the Emperor with a toast when you come through the other side. These Faur blighters only partake with us because it's free alcohol, but we let 'em for traditions sake," Watchmaster B-63 said.

"Oh," was S-1049's strangely downcast reply.

"Ah now don't be like that, I'm sure the Watchmaster'll let ya in on it for the next deployment. After all we plan to keep you two alive, don't we," F-888 said amicably.

"Aye, right about that, you two seem like good people, little strange, but that just makes ya fit in to the 82nd all the more. Better company than those fungus eating Hoarfell buggers anyway," F-920 supplied with an amiable chuckle.

A round of laugher occurred at that, of the three regiments on the _Ipsum_ it seemed the 82nd and the 121st got along the least, the Randon hardly seemed to care too much.

"Speaking of them I notice you were getting pretty cozy with some of them Hoarfell boys on our last mission trooper," B-63 his frame still shaking with laughter said gesturing to me.

"Aye, what was that about lass, I know we don't show faces, but it hurts ta know you're trying to get a man not even from yer own regiment," F-888 offered with mock offense.

"They were troopers from Surris, this trooper simply wanted to partake in a friendly game with them, I assure you all it will not happen again if you think it will compromise this trooper's combat effectiveness," I replied.

"Oh, no there trooper, do whatever you like, within reason of course, we're just curious is all, thought you two were right close anyway myself," B-63 stated gesturing between Jericus and I, and for once I thanked the Emperor for the damned mask. S-1049 and I were silent yet again as the Watchmaster and the three grenadiers scrutinized us.

"Don't worry you two, rules against fraternization aren't nearly as enforced as they was in the past, the actual Kriegers in the 82nd have dwindled to the point where you don't have to worry about it too much. Just remember if they have K before their number don't let them catch you doin' it," B-80 gave another hearty laugh, the others joined in, meanwhile we both stayed silent.

Though the false assumptions were embarrassing I can't really claim such feelings toward Jericus anyway, strange as it sounds I feel almost too close to him for those kinds of thoughts at the moment.

"Alright, alright enough badgerin' the poor kids, let's move on to somethin' else, like how about you there trooper S-1049 and your CQC, you're too good at it for it to just be the Korps training. Were you some sort of fighter back on Surris?" B-63 questioned.

S-1049 gave a pause and when he spoke seemed almost bashful at what he was about to admit. "This trooper occasionally boxed after it got off its shift on the assembly lines, it was fairly good, though it still didn't last long against a Korpsman during initial training."

"Wait let me stop ya there, this Korpsman he happen to be one K-556, long scratch across his mask? Right tough bastard, likes to knock the wind from ya," B-63 questioned.

"Yes, this trooper believes the Watchmaster is correct," S-1049 replied with a shrug of his shoulders.

"I can't believe it, B-52 told me that K-556 was having a hard time with on of his recruits, I hadn't thought for a moment that it was you. Said you almost knocked that bugger flat on his arse that true?"

"This trooper…" S-1049 faltered for a moment.

"S-1049, was one of the best in our company at CQC, this trooper doesn't quite remember, but he may have indeed come close to beating our CQC instructor once or twice," I decided to reply for him.

"Ha, what I would've given to see that bugger humbled so," B-80 joined in.

"Yeah, bastard knocked my teeth out when I was being trained," F-888 agreed.

I'm not sure who started it, but the lot of us burst into uncontrollable laughter, even S-1049 and I, it was infectious, and so strange how these men seemed so much different from how they appeared at first. These moments of levity shone some light on how things really were in the 82nd, and they make me wonder how the Kriegers—only a few of whom I've seen and are left alive—are the way they are, what happened to them that made them train their troops the way we were trained.

How can they allow their sons and daughters to become numbers?

I know I shouldn't be thinking like this, our training tells me I shouldn't; Watchmaster B-52 told us that we shouldn't think like this. Still the questions keep piling up in my mind, who told Watchmaster B-52 these same things, or Watchmaster B-63, B-80, F-920, F-888, who were they before the 82nd?

It was only a little while later when S-1049 and I were alone, getting some rest before we were to return to the frontlines that I asked him the questions rolling around in my head, wanting to know what he made of them. Our bedding consisted of some standard Munitorum issued cots, our bedding our field blankets, which we used for pillows, our greatcoats more than sufficient for warmth. Surris was cold after all, in-fact right now I'm feeling a little too warm, I pulled my greatcoat off and lie on it instead, S-1049 follows my lead not too long after, he must be hot too.

"They didn't really tell us anything about themselves," I pause. "Nothing personal I mean, but the Watchmaster wanted us to get to know each other, and still this trooper hardly knows anything about them. Don't you find that strange?"

"This trooper doesn't really know. Maybe the Watchmaster was just messing with us, or maybe we'll get to learn more about them later. As for strange… this trooper doesn't really recall a time when things weren't strange," he paused. "We still have each other to keep ourselves grounded though, right Fenria?"

I felt like I ought to remember it, like when he said that word that some spark would remind me that it was my name, but you'd be surprised how fast you'd completely forget your own name. In that moment though, my breath did hitch, because of the confirmation that he did keep it for me, someone remembered.

"Right, Jericus, we have each other."

Suddenly, there was the sound of weapons fire down the line.

* * *

It was completely unexpected, I was on the _Twisted Grox_ when it happened, and my squad was on another routine jump. We were supposed to land in an enemy occupied sector and harass whatever fractured supply lines they had left, but then when we were about halfway to our drop-off this PDF flyer came out of nowhere and opened fire on us. The pilot managed to keep the _Grox_ steady long enough for most of us to make it out, Sergeant Joss thankfully among the survivors.

Her and I were really the last ones out, as I was about to jump she tackled me from behind and next thing I know there's a loud_ boom_ and the air at our backs is kecking _hot_, I glanced over my shoulder to see the _Grox_, or what was left of it, a smoldering twisted hunk of metal plummet from the air and crash into a nearby hab. Throughout it all the fact that I almost died was surprisingly not the first thing I was thinking about, it was that I didn't even know the pilots name.

We were cart-wheeling in freefall for a few seconds before the Sergeant finally pushed away from me; she righted herself expertly in the air and was properly falling. Not a moment later my own instincts kicked in, all those training drops they made us go through, some even coming really close to detailing almost the same exact situation. Righting myself I was now falling facing the ground, my left hand now gripped the control lever of my grav-chute, I knew from training I had to wait just a while longer… about five more seconds.

Five, four, three, two, one, and deploy. My descent now started to slow, and then it was as if I was floating, slowly bobbing in the air like a cork in the water. Sergeant Joss was only a few meters above and to the right of me, looking down I could see what was left of my squad all either making their landings, or already landed. Those with boots on the ground had already set up a perimeter, strangely enough the ground we were approaching had some kind of grass on it, a few tall things with green at the tops of them too, some kind of plant I think. Surris didn't have much plant-life, at least nothing that grew as tall as whatever those things were.

Finally I landed; my landing was quite soft considering I just jumped from an exploding valkyrie. Quickly I made myself useful getting into position beside Corporal Cathair Berach, he was the veteran that shoved me during my blooding; he along with Sergeant Joss took me under his wing. He's been teaching me how to survive on the battlefield; still I wish he'd be a bit more pleasant about it.

Sergeant Joss made touchdown seconds later. "Alright boys an' girls sound-off! I wanna know whose still in the land of the living," she stated clearly, not a hint that she had almost died not less than three minutes ago. Those of us left proceeded to sound-off; all told by the end of it of the 24 of us only 15 remained.

"Okay then, first things first we know we were shot down by a PDF flyer. We know they had to have known we were friendly, so until further notice all PDF forces are now to be on your shit-lists troopers. We get back to friendly lines and we figure out what the warp is happening from there, and unfortunately we can't just vox for an explanation or pickup 'cause it seems Delma is no longer with us."

Delma was our squad's long range vox operator; I guess he was still waiting to jump when the _Twisted Grox_ exploded. Everyone seemed to be nodding in agreement of the Sergeants analysis of the situation and had an air of purpose and dogged determination about them, some even seemed to have unhinged glee at the prospect of a good fight ahead, which was to be expected, during my time with them one thing was clear to me at this point… the men and women of Randon are all insane.

"So, judging by the greenery and the fact that we were at about the halfway point of our flight I'd say we're in the municipal park of sector three. That means we've got about five klicks northbound to cover to get back to friendly lines," she continued.

"Yeah, that's if they still are friendly. If the PDF did turn on us then our main forces got hit hard from behind," stated Anrai the squad's eternal pessimist.

"Stow it Anrai, the PDF may have had that slight advantage, but if there's one thing we can be sure on it's that the blanks, and those Hoarfell boys will hold the line… much as I hate to admit it they're better at that sort of fightn' than us," the rest of the squad nodded, though grudgingly. It seemed that despite all the tension between the three regiments they trusted each other to do their respective jobs.

"Alright then. Gory, gory troopers," Sergeant Joss stated firmly.

"Helluva way to die!" Was chorused back enthusiastically, now that I had earned the right even I participated.

"Come on; sound off like you've got a pair!" The Sergeant cupped her ear.

"HELLUVA WAY TO DIE!" We thundered a second time.

"That's what I like to hear! Now move out troopers, standard defensive formation, make due with our numbers, and make adjustments where necessary. Lupa, Barach you're on point, Anrai, Renfer you take up the rear. The rest of you spread out in the middle, don't give a bunched up target," she said quickly.

We got into our positions and began our journey back to friendly lines, we were facing hard opposition, rebel forces were fairly heavy in this area, and now the PDF might be gunning for us. Despite all that I couldn't help but be in slight awe of the park we were in, it was nothing like the parks we had on Surris, which were at best brown patches of hardy plains grass; no this had green all over, and those giant plants growing up out of the ground, and to think this was all inside a single city. Barach noticed my distracted state and swiftly reprimanded me, my fault we were after all on point I had to be focused.

"Lupa stop gawking at the trees, keep an eye out for enemy activity, just got you blooded, can't have you die yet, warp damn you."

So they were called trees. "Yes sir, sorry sir," I replied, and then ignoring the strangely captivating plants around me I focused my mind to be vigilant. Over the next few minutes our progress was unimpeded before I managed to catch sight of something, local PDF uniform colors, dull yellow, and black vertical strips.

"Sir, movement to our left," I reported quickly.

"Good spot Lupa," he then relayed through the vox-bead. "Barach to squad, PDF forces to our left, about 100 meters, about three dozen, possibly coming to clean up any survivors, advise we hunker down and wait for them to pass, over." We waited scant moments for the reply.

"Copy Corporal, Hunker down people, wait for them to pass, over and out," Sergeant Joss responded. Even though he suggested it I could tell Barach was itching to fight the enemy, in fact all of the Randon seemed to want to, but they stayed still, hidden in the trees none of them breaking cover to take a shot and alert the enemy. It was a good thing too, we were outnumbered, and the PDF of this world didn't seem like pushovers, at least not to me.

The moments of waiting were tense, as I said before everyone seemed eager to start a fight, but they choked down the urge until the PDF patrol finally passed us.

"Alright troopers, lets keep moving," Sergeant Joss said through the vox-bead, her voice a crackly whisper in my ear. Barach and I got up first and resumed point, the park was hilly and we had to be careful when coming to the tops of those hills, for the most part we tried to keep to the spaces between them to reduce the likelihood of being spotted.

Running into several more patrols we avoided each one, Sergeant Joss definitely didn't want to make any rash moves. Though we had to assume, we didn't really know if the PDF was after us, although their presence in rebel territory being largely unmolested as they strolled about seemingly looking for something was pretty damning evidence.

The park ended almost abruptly, a metal gate separating it from the city streets beyond, the expanse of grimy rockcrete and building structures seemed like a rotting corpse and stood in hard contrast compared to the green park. How they managed to keep a park that nice so far down in a city I have no idea, though the air was much fresher here. We filed out carefully onto the street, crossing it in pairs at a quick pace, on the other side we took refuge in one of the maze-like alleyways.

"Okay boys an' girls from here we stick to the alleys as much as possible, patrols'll probably only be coming up the main roads. If memory serves we're nearly halfway home, let's try to keep avoiding fights until we've grouped up with at least one element from our comrades, everyone clear?" Sergeant Joss stated low but clearly. Everyone nodded affirmation and we headed out again Barach and I were rotated to the middle of the formation and a fresh pair of eyes and ears was put up front. I think it was Tretch and Ness, both I knew pretty well, but maybe not as well as I should by now.

They were leading us at a very brisk pace, much faster than Barach and I; we cut through alleyways strewn with garbage, debris, and other refuse. We could hear weapons firing in the distance; it started as far off echoes but soon turned into a steady rhythm. Suddenly Tretch and Ness brought us to a halt at the end of an alley; we all stacked up automatically when the say-so came through the vox-beads.

"Tretch what do we have," Sergeant Joss questioned.

"You should see for yourself Ma'am, I think you'd know better than me," Tretch's strangely soft voice responded. Right after the words left his lips the Sergeant made her way to the opening of the alley beside him. I saw Tretch hand her the small periscope he uses to peek around corners, it only took her a moment to observe whatever situation there was.

"Well, that's somewhat comforting," Sergeant Joss states handing Tretch his periscope so he could keep an eye on the situation.

"What's comforting Ma'am," Barrach asked from my right.

"Arbites Fighting the PDF, means we're not alone, I doubt Adeptus Arbites would be in on the rebellion." She paused, "you know what that means troopers, friendlies, let's help 'em out. There are about a dozen PDF pukes, and three Arbitrators, Barach pick six troopers you want to go with you, you're gonna flank the buggers. Everyone else is with me, our job'll be to provide back-up for the Arbitrators and keep hostile attention occupied," turning to Barach she continued. "Gory, gory is your signal phrase to let us know when you're in position, and well I'm sure you know what the 'go' phrase is gonna be Corporal. Everyone got that?" She waited looking on as a few of us offered nods, thumbs up, and other signs of comprehension. "Good, let's get it done troopers, Barach pick your team."

"Alright, Flair, Anrai, Renfer, Foss, Ness, Lupa you're coming with me." He turned to the Sergeant, "on your go Ma'am."

"Tretch, how do things look," Sergeant Joss asked.

"I don't think they'll notice team two getting across the street and into position Ma'am."

"Good, you've got your go Corporal, keep low, and get around them,"

"Roger Ma'am, let's move out troopers." Barach led the way, we stacked up at the alley mouth, and waited for his go, he gave the signal, and then crouched low and ran across the street to the opposite alleyway, we all followed after him two at a time, waiting for the duo ahead of us to make it across first. Foss and I were the last two to cross the street.

The action successful and the enemy seemingly none the wiser Barach gave the okay sign through the vox-link. "Looks like we're good Ma'am see you on the other side."

"Copy that Corporal," Sergeant Joss responded.

With that done our fire-team began to move through the veritable maze of alleyways leading to the enemy's vulnerable rear. A little ways into the sound of additional lasfire echoed through the narrow walls around us as the Sergeant led the distraction team. The sides of the alley walls were fairly clean; given how low we were in the city, still trash and other refuse crunched under our boots as we made our way to a good flanking position.

Skirting around what looked to once be some sort of restaurant, or some other eating establishment we came upon the open road leading into the intersection the PDF were held up in on their left flank, Barach stopped us so that we were all still in cover.

"Okay boys'n'girls get with your battle-buddies," everyone paired up, I stayed beside Barach, he was my assigned battle-buddy, the 145th liked to pair the relatively new recruits with seasoned vets like him, at least for a bit after they've been blooded. Anrai went with Flair, and Ness paired with Foss, once everyone paired off he nodded, pleased with the arrangements. "There's plenty of cover to go around out there troopers, spread out make yourselves hard targets and when you here the go word through vox cut those rebel bastards down, give a single squelch over vox when you're in position, three teams, three squelches. Let's hop to it." Everyone nodded.

We moved out across the street, abandoned auto-cabs, various booths, and a few traffic dividers gave excellent cover. The enemy, too preoccupied with the distraction team and the Arbitrators, didn't even notice the crimson figures moving into firing-positions not a scant fifteen yards away.

The squelches sounded, Barach and I had been the first, soon followed by two more, and then seemingly with a hint of glee lacing his voice Barrach almost whispered the signal phrase "Gory, gory."

"Helluva way to die." Was heard across the vox, almost simultaneously we all opened fire on the PDF troopers exposed flank. Our lasfire cut into them, their flak-armor doing little to dissipate the furious heat of the lasbeams, training had us concentrate fire, battle-buddies each aiming at the same man. It increased the chance of a kill and made sure the target wouldn't get back up, but then again from our angle the PDF'ers were seemingly grouped together, and as the ones closest fell the ones behind them were exposed.

It was still frightening to me, seeing bodies… move like that. Lasbeams were good at flash-evaporating water, that's what they drilled into our heads during training, Faces disappeared in red, necks seemed to twist around, and limbs cut off at the joints. The lasbeam cauterized the wound for the most part sure, but so much flesh is taken away and so many traumas caused to the body that it usually doesn't save the unlucky target from bleeding out, if they're even still breathing after a direct hit.

Once the PDF'ers finally turned to address us as the new threat they were hopelessly losing, any of them focusing on us wasn't pay attention to the distraction team, or proper cover discipline. They were simply cut to pieces, the last man being thrown back several feet as a huge hole opened up in his chest courtesy of several lasbeams. We stayed in cover for a moment surveying the scene, and then Barach relayed the situation over the vox. "All hostile down Ma'am, meet at your position?"

"Copy Corporal, make your way over, but first make sure those hostiles are all neutralized, over and out," came the reply. Barach nodded to himself, and then motioned for the other two teams to come over to our position.

He turned to Ness and Foss. "You two make sure those PDF'ers aren't getting back up. Then group up with the rest of us once you're done." He paused thoughtfully, "Keep careful troopers, be wary of booby traps. Those buggers might try to take ya with 'em if they've still got their wits about 'em, and a grenade."

"Got it sir," Ness stated.

"Yeah, don't worry so much, they look dead enough to me," Foss replied much more flippantly.

"Just get it done without going splat trooper," Barach said false discontent in his voice. Foss nodded while Ness gave a proper salute, and then the two jogged off toward the bodies. "The rest of us group up with the squad, come on now."

Jogging up the road toward the intersection we made a quick left toward our comrades, Foss and Ness were already checking bodies as we passed. Once our backs were to them I heard a single lasgun fire, followed by silence save for the ambient noise of the battle in the far distance. As we came upon our comrades it was apparent that Sergeant Joss was just starting to make small talk with what seemed the de-facto leader of the three Aribites.

"We are in your debt Guardsmen, thank you. If not for your timely arrival I believe the traitorous scum would have ended us, I am Arbitrator Drustos, and my fellows are Arbitrator Zuriel and cadet Thak," the mane paused motioning to his comrades as he introduced them. "Who do we have to thank for our lives?"

"145th Randon Drop Troopers, Sergeant Joss, my adjutant Barach, and the rest of what's left of my squad," the sergeant responded pleasantly.

"Again you have our thanks,"

"You're welcome, now if you could fill us in on what exactly is going on I would appreciate it. Our vox operator was lost in the crash, obviously we've been suspecting the PDF turing traitor, how bad is the situation exactly, do you have contact with your superiors," the sergeant asked.

The Arbitrator sighed heavily, "From what we've heard approximately three quarters of the PDF has defected to the rebel side, it seems that they had significant advantage during the early stages of their attack; however, as luck would have it your comrades from the other regiments have stopped the PDF attack." He paused.

"I feel bad news coming on…" Anrai commented.

"Anrai stow the pessimism for once," Barach said mildly annoyed.

"Unfortunately your comrade is correct, main Guard forces have managed to stop the PDF attack. Now though it's down to bloody street fighting to retake your foothold on these levels of the hive, we were actually on our way to rendezvous with elements from your comrade regiments, the 125th Hoarfell and the 82nd Death Korps I believe. I had heard that most of the Randon are still awaiting transit to major combat areas."

"Of course, Arbitrator Drustos I feel that it would be in both of our interests to proceed together from here on." Sergeant Joss said.

"Agreed Sergeant, if you have no objections I and my fellows will lead to the way."

"No issue with that Arbitrator, I'll just be glad to have more friendlies around me, as drop troopers we're used to being behind enemy lines, but this day has just been ridiculous so far." A chuckle escaped from the Sergeant's mouth leading to a series of imitations from the rest of the squad, myself included. After what had happened so far the rumbling of my chest from the laugh was very relaxing, the levity of the moment helped a great deal.

It took us about an hour, navigating back alley's, skirting around sizeable amounts of PDF troopers, and going through broken habs, but eventually we found the Hoarfell and Death Korps, and I wish to the Emperor we hadn't.

**A/N: Whelp, see you lovely people next week, don't forget to boost my self esteem!**

**300-709.**


	10. The Messes of Men II

**"Yesterday upon the stair I met a man who wasn't there. He wasn't there again today. Oh how I wish he'd go away."- Hughes Mearns**

**A/N: Alrighty as per request I shall be indicating POV/character for the coming chapters and I shall get to doing so for previous chapters as well, I apologize for any confusion brought about by these details prior to this point. Thanks to SgBriggs for his review and making the request, progress my dear readers! Thanks to you, the power of the review! Just kidding, didn't mean to sound so dramatic, seriously thank you SgBriggs, glad you've enjoyed the story so far, and a second thanks to drSpliff for his second review.**

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**POV: New character, third person**

The man looks down on the crisscrossing skyways of this vast and magnificent hive-city, city-32, so many in number are the skyways it is as though he were looking at solid ground from his angle. The monolithic structures of block-like towers rise up out of the fogs below, like gravestones in the mist of some forgotten land, the heavy traffic of autocabs and people on foot make the air buzz with living energy. Despite all of this, the city before him… the world before him holds great beauty, and he has come to liberate it from all that would enslave it.

He contemplates, these citizens do not know his true nature, or purpose, how could they? They would spurn him simply because of his beliefs, believing that all he and his fellows want is their eradication. Nothing could be further from the truth.

For the man's true purpose is the pursuit of freedom; choice is what separates him from the corpse worshipers who would condemn him to a fate worse than extinction and the vile scum who worship the other so called 'gods' and dare to fight under the banner of chaos. True agents of freedom such as him know this, thus they strive to bring choice and power to the shackled masses, even to those corpse worshipers that would listen. Their methods vary, some much more brutal and sadistic than others if only for the simple reason that sometimes you must strike a person with enough force to get them to understand.

So, it comes to pass that he will soon be making the presence of his work known on this planet, not nearly as overtly as many other agents of chaos, no, no cults save for those that spring up on their own on worlds such as this, and if he can help it no actual warp corruption, and all the monstrosities it brings forth. None of those things, for his master prefers a more… subtle approach, he values his anonymity, even among his fellow gods. However, that will change soon enough, for if his god gives him any instruction whatsoever it is that above all he shall do as he pleases, in the name of true freedom.

His manipulation of the local mutants as well as the lower class underhive citizens of the city has been enough so far. His fellow agents have been rousing similar rebellion in the other cities of this planet, and even throughout the subsector, but now comes the time for the real war to begin. The Imperial Guard sent to deal with the small rebellion has been doing a commendable job thus-far, give them another month and this would be all swept up nice and tidy he concludes.

However, that will all change by tomorrow, he and his fellows have done a great deal to manipulate events to the point they are now, a carefully prepared powder keg set up by seemingly insignificant events ready to blow at the smallest spark, and tomorrow all of his efforts will pay off in what is sure to be a glorious first strike against the corpse worshippers.

Yes, he is sure they will not see it coming… poor sods. The man was once like them, Imperial Guard, proud servant of the Emperor, but then like so many of his fellows he was shown the truth, eyes opened to the invisible shackles which constrained humanity.

Not many Imperials know this, but when a chaos disciple refers to the Emperor as 'corpse god' it is not some backhanded insult, at least not to most true agents. It is an affirmation, the man that once was is no more, he has not ascended to godhood, but humans are so… fragile of spirit, they must have something, a god, an idea, a symbol to latch onto. His just happens to be something that is real and has actual influence on the ebbs and flows of the galaxy.

When he was first made aware of this truth he like so many had refused to believe, until he was given freedom, just as he and his comrades had been captured they had been let go. Their captors only saying that if they wanted true enlightenment all they would have to do was mutter a prayer to the true god, and he would answer and guide them in his quest to bring freedom to humanity, to strike off the shackles.

Many of his company did not utter a word about the contact with the enemy, better to not get shot by the Commissar, and none said anything about the proposal given to them. In the end the man thinks he was the only one to utter the name, his curiosity having gotten the better of him, and how glad he is that it had for the god had come to him, the meeting so real and tangible that to this day he still has not seen its like again. Now he only whispers to his servant, guides him in the quest to free the oppressed and bring about true choice to the masses, but these whispers were enough.

The man cuts his thoughts on his past short, he has a schedule to keep, thus he now approach's his new and enlightened friend, it took a number of months to convince the man before him, but reluctant as he was his eyes were opened to the truth. He knows that the planet must be free from Imperial oppression, and he has the means to do so, at least for city-32. The underhive rebels and mutants were just the vanguard of the rebellion, now the true war for the planet would begin.

He nears his friend and clasps him amiably on the shoulder; his friend was dressed in his military garb, quite immaculate, yet simple for one in his position. Epaulets complimenting the simple drab olive of the PDF colors, a few modest medals and accolades upon his chest, he had fought in a few resource wars to earn those, or so he had said.

"Governor, it is time, my fellows and I have provided the path, it is up to you to tread it, so give the order, the time for the true liberation of Tartarius is at hand," the agent of chaos announces his words with pride and confidence. Pride because he has shown the man before him the truth and he will soon liberate his people, confidence because he knows the man before him will, because not only is his friend a true believer, but because the true god has told him he would through the whispers.

The agent's friend nods, and then he walks over to his head General and relays the order, the General simply nods, and with that simple act the liberation of the planet begins. The agent has precious little time to waste; soon the Imperial Guard that has come to quell the rebellions will find the true rebels at their back.

When that time comes and it will be soon the agent wishes to be there with the liberators, fighting against those that would oppress this planet and its people. perhaps he will find a few among the corpse worshippers worthy enough to hear the truth and become enlightened like himself and his fellows… or maybe he would just killed them in the name of freedom, time would tell.

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**POV: Jericus/third person**

The coordinated attacks had happened early in the day cycle, roughly eighty-five percent of PDF forces in city-32 launching major offensives against Imperial Guard forces. Luckily for the Guard their positions had been fortified heavily from the get-go and most sectors were able to repel the surprise attacks. Still the PDF traitors along with the re-emerging rebel forces are now fighting the Guard to a standstill.

Attempting to gain a better advantage Colonel K-52 had decided to send grenadiers into enemy lines to disrupt any further attempts at breaking Imperial footholds in the southern sectors of city-32. Hoarfell scouting elements were conjoined to grenadier fireteams to help with assessment of enemy movement, disposition, and strongpoint's.

In the moment all S-1049 could think about was the hard-rounds and lasfire of traitor PDF and rebel forces peppering the wall he was now hiding behind, and his earlier assessment of PDF troopers being sloppy in comparison to the Korps while not entirely incorrect was now being tested. While they may not have been as well trained as the Korps, cunning as the Hoarfell, or tenacious as the unhinged Randon, fighting them was a night and day difference from fighting the seemingly undisciplined and ragtag rebel forces.

They were disciplined and very motivated, fighting for your home will do that for you, and they were fighting the Guard for control of the city; at the moment a squad of PDF troopers numbering some fifteen as well as about a half-a-dozen rebels laid siege to the hastily fortified position of combined Death Korps grenadiers and Hoarfell scouts numbering around a dozen all told. S-1049 tried to snap off a few quick shots at the rebel positions, but the amount of return fire forced him back into cover. Overall the situation was not looking good for the Imperials, pinned as they were in a dilapidated restaurant.

The rockcrete front was the only thing saving them so far from being completely annihilated by the incoming fire; luckily the PDF and rebels didn't have any heavy weapons with them. S-1049 looked over to S-1050 and noticed she wasn't faring any better in the situation, the Hoarfell men, and women he hadn't really gotten to know too well, but two of them were snipers and one the sole field-medic the joint force had on hand.

Said Hoarfell medic was doggedly trying to save F-888's life from a severe looking thigh wound; with the amount of blood it didn't look good. Currently Watchmaster B-63 had command of the joint squad and he was surveying the battle, even though he wore a mask S-1049 could tell by his body language that he didn't like whatever he thought their odds were. S-1049 didn't like it, he'd been simply taking direction ever since he'd been conscripted into the Korps back on Surris, not having that direction worried him, his superior not having the answer like they said he would in training made him angry.

"Sir, what will you have these troopers do," S-1049 yelled out to Watchmaster B-63, his question punctuated by a hard-round finally punching through the cover behind him, the rockcrete wall finally having been chipped away. B-63 seemed to glance over at him for a moment, pointedly looking at the disintegrating cover, and then back further into the restaurant they were in, taking note of the stairs in the back, unfortunately no back exit, it had been blocked off by fallen debris.

"S-1050, troopers Haller, and Wilhelm see if you lot can't get to the second floor of this place and use the high-ground against them, I don't think I should have to tell you, but look for and eliminate officers, otherwise targets of opportunity. S-1049 help Medicae Harding get F-888 to the back of the building, and then get back up here. You me, and trooper Spores are gonna try and get around their flank once we hopefully get them pinned with sniper fire, B-80, F-920, and the rest of you Hoarfell boys stay here to keep 'em focused on this building while we try 'an get around. Everyone keep an ear on yer vox-beads and relay any enemy movements you think'll be trouble. Alright, now let's go troopers," everyone gave a nod in the affirmative and went about with their orders.

S-1049 and S-1050 cast a glance at each other, S-1049 nodded to her, answering their silent conversation; she returned the gesture before heading with the Hoarfell snipers to the back of the building toward the stairs. They went off half-crouched and scurrying quickly to present as little a target as possible. S-1050 had just recently made the grade of designated marksman for their grenadier fireteam, which earned her the right to carry a longlas, requisitioned from a quartermaster that very morning before they headed out, Watchmaster B-63 had been very insistent with the PDF betrayal and everything else happening.

S-1049 stolidly went about the task of helping Medicae Harding get F-888 to a safer area, slinging his standard Lucius pattern lasgun and making his way over to the wounded man and medicae.

"Okay, this'll be tricky, we're gonna have to move him without any of us getting shot." Harding stated with grim humor, "I'll take the shoulders, you'll get his legs, it's important we keep his legs above his head angled up, you can do that right?"

Harding's words were not meant to question S-1049's ability, nor were they said unkindly he was merely concerned for the suffering man he had to keep alive.

"This trooper won't let its comrade down," S-1049 responded.

"That's what I like to hear, let's get your friend patched up then," S-1049 nodded in affirmation and then got into position at F-888's legs, gripping each ankle by the shin guards the man had strapped firmly onto his legs. Harding likewise took position at F-888's head, his arms under the wounded man's armpits solidly.

"Okay on three we go for it, remember legs above his head." S-1049 nodded, Harding nodded back, "okay, ready one, two, three!"

The two scurried across the open floor of the rundown restaurant, keeping as many tables between them and the front window as they could. Finally they made it to the back and gently as their adrenaline fueled bodies could they laid F-888 down. Harding checked F-888's pulse and gave him a once over, the wound while still bleeding a little was bound tight.

"He's still among the living, now go end this fight while I try to keep him here." Harding stated as he began to further treat the wound. S-1040 gave yet another nod before heading back in a crouch run toward his previous position, readying his lasgun as he did so.

"Ready and willing sir," S-1049 stated as he got into cover beside Watchmaster B-63, chips of rockcrete seemed to punctuate his words as they were blown out of place by hard-rounds.

"Ditto sir," trooper Spores replied from the Watchmaster's left. S-1049 noted the slight nervous twitch of Spores left eye as she said this, over all he couldn't blame her, his stomach was twisting up over the impending counter attack, and his hand was shaking something awful. Like all Hoarfell troopers Spores wore their odd cloak-like uniform, scarf looped loosely around her neck, and a pair of goggles.

B-63 simply gave them a nod before calling out orders into his vox-bead for suppressing fire from the snipers who were now situated on the second floor. High whine-cracks of longlas' reverberated through the air, enemy fire paused as the PDF, and rebels took cover at the unexpected counter-fire.

B-63 was through the entrance in a microsecond, S-1049 and Spores hot on his heels, the opportunity would be brief, and even as they neared cover in the adjacent building across the narrow street the enemy had resumed their onslaught, though more cautiously now out of fear of catching a lasbolt through the temple. Still the cacophony from their weapons overshadowed the meek by comparison counter-fire coming from the rest of the imperials.

B-63 was panting as he leaned against the wall of the building, all three guardsmen out of site of the opposing rebels. "Looks like luck's on our side, I don't think they've noticed us just yet."

"This trooper suggests we change that sir," S-1049 replied steadily.

"You're starting to speak my language trooper, but let's get a better position first. We'll go through the back exit and catch 'em from their left." B-63 said motioning to the shop they were currently using for cover.

S-1049 nodded taking position at the entrance of the shop Spores to his left both waiting for B-63 to give them the go ahead to secure the inside. The Watchmaster gave him the signal after he went to the opposite side of the entrance; they went in the muzzles of their lasguns leading the way. Their fields of aim played over the left and right sides of the interior starting from the corners and working their way throughout the space, B-63 came through after them doing his own quick sweep of the room but trusting his subordinates to do the bulk of the work.

"Clear," S-1049 reported.

"Clear on my end too," Spores echoed. The trio proceeded through the building, some sort of department store in better days, and the various wares strewn all over due to earlier looting and general chaos created by the initial insurrections.

B-63 paused a moment, listening in on his vox-bead. "Say again B-80, there's interference." After another moment all he got in response was more garble.

"Damn, alright you two be ready, bugger's are up to something."

They went toward the back following the exit signs until they came to the back entrance. B-63 covered the door and motioned for S-1049 to do the honors, and without hesitation he practically threw the door open.

None of them expected it to slam into a body on the other side, or for there to be four more PDF traitors to be behind that first one. B-63's reflexes were moved by his rigorous training to respond in an instant, gunning down two of the men with brilliant red bolts from his lasgun, his form perfect two shots to center mass apiece. Spores sprayed down another, and finally S-1049 thrust his bayonet into the throat of the first he had knocked to the ground. With a quick twist and pull he then thrust once more into the traitor's chest to finish him off with haste, cutting off the dying man's gurgling death cry.

The three paused, afraid they may have woken up the hornets nest, but to their relief after a few passing seconds they were satisfied that that wasn't the situation.

"Seems like the PDF'ers had the same idea we did, that one that you stuck was a sergeant, probably what B-80 was trying to warn us about," the Watchmaster pointed out promptly. "Come on we have to get this done before they realize their boys didn't get through."

The trio quickly continued onward, going through the back alley behind the building; pausing at the entrance of the alley B-63 carefully peered out scanning the surroundings and spotting the enemies left flank, their target. B-63 gave the signal and the two made a quick dash across the empty street in a crouch run to the other side, they were stopped once they hit the cover of the rockcrete wall of the building across from the department store.

The PDF and rebels were too busy attacking their comrades to notice them. Creeping towards the edge of the building they were against the trio was now a mere five meters from their targets. B-63 did an impromptu headcount of the enemy forces.

"Seems those boys we ran into were with them, which means less targets, plus seems our snipers took a few themselves, I'd say about ten bodies all told, and we've got six frags between us all. I'd like to not waste that many on these scum, so let's try and paste 'em all with three." Watchmaster B-63 stated, and hint of odd enthusiasm in his voice. S-1049 noted that the prospect of blowing someone up apparently appealed to him greatly, especially if they had his men pinned.

"Hell yeah," Spores said enthusiastically.

"Good answer, what about you S-1049," B-63 questioned.

"This trooper wholeheartedly agrees Watchmaster," S-1049 replied.

"Atta' boy," B-63 said a grin evident in his tone. "Well don't just stand there troopers, let's give these traitors what they deserve."

S-1049 gave his watchmaster a nod and then primed his first grenade, standard issue fragmentation, Spores right behind him readying her own. The two waited for the go ahead as B-63 primed his own grenade; at the signal the three guardsmen threw the deadly explosives in an arc aiming for them to land behind the enemy. S-1049 counted down time till detonation in his head, at around the two second mark the grenades went off. Safely behind the wall of the building the guardsmen were spared the deadly shrapnel which tore into the unwitting backs of their enemies.

"Time to pick off the survivors," B-63 stated swiftly rounding the corner to survey the scene, S-1049 followed to the right of his watchmaster hugging the wall and keeping his aim on where the enemy had been. Coming upon the sight it was apparent that very few had survived, of the original twenty-one enemy troopers only three remained alive, and even then just barely. They groaned in pain, muscle shredded by shrapnel, nerve-endings flaring, and ear drums burst. Being merciful the Korpsmen ended the unlucky survivor's pain with three well placed lasbolts S-1049 killed one while B-63 took the other two, Spores watched on, not with disapproval, but not wishing to participate.

They proceeded to clear the area as best they could with only the three of them, once satisfied B-63 activated his vox-bead. "Hostiles eliminated, S-1049 and I are heading back to you now, see ya in a minute." Another garbled response followed his; the watchmaster merely shook his head in annoyance.

Jogging back toward their comrades the pair took care whilst crossing the streets, they didn't need to get spotted by more hostiles B-63 thought with venom, not with F-888 injured as he was. They made it back to find B-80, along with the other two Hoarfell trooper's weapons ready peering out into the street.

"Where's F-920," B-63 questioned immediately, when he gave orders he expected them to be followed, and F-920 wasn't where he was supposed to be.

"B-63, sir F-888 didn't make it. After we saw you had neutralized the enemy I let F-920 go to pay his respects." B-80 answered solemnly

"Oh," B-63 paused the moment washing over him. "Stay in position, we're clear for now, but let me know first thing if that changes. Spores, S-1049 stick with me, I may need you to subdue F-920."

Walking toward the back of the restaurant where S-1049 remembered having left F-888 didn't take long, but once the sight of what awaited became visible S-1049 was hit like a punch to the gut. In terms of time he hadn't known the two men on the ground in front of him very long, however fighting beside someone will make you feel closer than you may have been, and he knew that though he would miss F-888 that for F-920 this must be unbearable. From what he had gathered the two men had known each other since their own training and for quite a few campaigns after that. They were as close to brothers as humanly possible without having to share blood.

F-920 kneeled over his fallen comrade, lasgun dropped to his right, holding the hand of his fallen brother tightly in both of his own. Harding stood off to the side viewing the scene with a detached sympathy one had to have to be a field-medic, especially one that had failed in his duty to a comrade. He saw the approach of the watchmaster and went to intercept ten feet from the grieving man.

"Sir I'm terribly sorry, a hard-round basically cut his femoral artery in half, it retracted too far in for me to get at in time."

"That's all right trooper," B-63 said lowly and began to walk past him. Harding intercepted again hand of the watchmaster's chest-plate.

"Sir with all due respect I would let the man grieve, I've seen this too many times, he's not in the right frame of mind to…" B-63 held up his hand to cut the field-medic off.

"I'm well aware trooper, but guardsmen can't afford to grieve, not until the fighting's done." His attempts ignore Harding let the trio pass by without anymore trouble, going to join the others at the front.

S-1049 stopped about five feet from the scene, Spores doing the same whilst B-63 continued toward the kneeling man. From this distance S-1049 could barely make out the muffled sounds of a man's sadness, stifled sniffles which told the story of earlier sobs now held in check. He watched as B-63 stooped barely a foot away from F-920 to his side and consciously on his right side where the watchmaster could easily kick his lasgun away should he try and use it in his unstable state.

"F-920, you know we have to get moving, I need to know you're with us one-hundred percent here," B-63 said not unsympathetically.

A sharp intake of breath came from F-920 and for a second S-1049 though he was about have a go at the watchmaster as he saw the man's hand clench. But the moment passed as F-920 let out a shuddering breath, he gave F-888's limp hand one final squeeze before laying it across the dead man's chest gently. He then reached slowly for his discarded lasgun, grabbing it, and securing the strap about his person standing up to his full height once he was satisfied.

"This trooper won't be at one-hundred percent sir, but it will not fail in its duty," F-920 stated haltingly. S-1049 noted his use of the third person; so far he had yet to hear any of the veteran grenadiers in his fire-squad refer to themselves in anything but the first.

B-63 put his hand firmly on F-920's shoulder. "Good enough korpsman, go up-front and keep B-80 some company," As B-63 withdrew his hand F-920 nodded smoothly and walked past them all with long seemingly confident strides. B-63 watched him go before activating his vox-bead. "S-1050, do you copy," a pause.

"Yes Watchmaster," came the reply, the interference now seemingly over at such close range.

"Good, get down here, back of the building, tell the others to come down with you but to take position at the front with everyone else."

"Understood sir, this trooper is on its way."

B-63 turned toward the pair behind him, "Spores go join the others we'll be moving out soon." The trooper nodded before turning smartly and heading away, S-1050 passed her as she came toward the scene.

"Troopers we'll need to secure F-888's gear, you two divide it evenly between yourselves, power-cells, lasgun, grenades, and filters, anything you deem vital. Leave his armor and uniform for the quartermasters," B-63 stated kneeling down and gingerly retrieving F-888's dog tags, taking one of the pair for himself and leaving the other for the quartermasters that would recover the body. "You've got three minutes to get it done, clear?"

"Clear sir," S-1049 and S-1050 responded in sync, B-63 nodded before walking away to join the rest of the squad. They got to their task as soon as the Watchmaster turned away, quickly stripping F-888's still form of power-packs, grenades, filters, and other useful pieces of kit. S-1050 took his lasgun and secured it cross her back concluding their objective, S-1049 stayed in place for a moment, and then unbidden his hand reached toward F-888's masked face.

"S-1049 leave it for the quartermasters," S-1050 stated clearly. His hand retracted mere inches from the mask; the motivation to take it off was still there though, to see if someone who's been in the 82nd as long as F-888 still has a face to put a name to. Logically he knows it's silly of him to think this, it's there just covered in metal and rubber, but S-1049 just can't shake the feeling, the itch to be positive about this. Standing up his decision is made, the itch remains unscratched, and he makes the sign of the Aquila with his hands, the appendages needing to move to erase the feeling of wanting to remove that lump of rubber and metal.

"Sweet God-Emperor forgive your servant his sins as he goes to your side, and remember… he was just a man," S-1049 recited the prayer for his fallen comrade quietly. "This trooper is sorry S-1050, let us go."

S-1050 watched him walk off, lingering for a moment. "That's okay Jericus," she whispered to herself. Making the sign of the Aquila for her dead comrade she turned sharply and quickly went after him. The two met up with the group shortly after, B-63 nodded subtly to them and they returned the gesture.

"Standard formation troopers, we've still got a mission to accomplish before the day is out, so let's not waste anymore time, move out." B-63 stated loud and clear.

S-1049, S-1050, Haller, and Wilhelm formed the rear of the group, B-80 and F-920 with Harding and another Hoarfell trooper in the middle, while B-63 took point with the Hoarfell scout specialist of the squad. They moved out of the restaurant onto the side walk keeping eyes on their designated zones to ensure enemy troopers weren't lurking around. Their column moving vaguely southward toward what B-63 deemed their primary objective, namely a transmission relayed from their elements further south.

Before being held up by the firefight they had been on their way to join up with their comrades who along with finding survivors of the 145th Randon and Adeptus Arbites had also been sent to take down the bridge that served as the main artery for the southern sector, currently four separate squads of joint Death Korps and Hoarfell were attempting to complete this objective. However, they were meeting stiff resistance and all available units had been instructed to assist them.

The bridge was the key to the southern sector without it the rebels and PDF would have no way of keeping their offensive line supplied and would then falter leaving them two options, push onward and be annihilated by the main elements of the Imperial Guard, or retreat.

With it destroyed the Imperials could then focus on getting to the source of enemy command in the north and storm the main spire which according to command would end the conflict in its tracks. If they cut off the head of the snake the body would wither, intelligence had come through, and they knew the Lord Governor had started this. He and his generals were all in one place, the central spire, and safest place to be in city-32 at the moment. But soon they would be bringing the light of the Emperor to the dark tower.

**A/N: Thanks for reading ladies and gentlemen, kindly leave a review. They do motivate me so, any response, one of last chapters reviews brought about a progressive change, include your input, be heard! Suggest changes, characters for future installments, anything you want aside from tirades of curses, unless they have a specified positive message at the end of them and are constructive. Anyway, rant done thanks again and see you next week.**

**300-709**


	11. Wilhelm Screamed

**Disclaimer- Threw this up in chapter one, but figure having it be more current will help cover my ass on the off chance eh? Anyway, I do not own Warhammer 40k or any of the works therin and I do not make any profit off of this other than the feels gotten by reading those lovely reviews I get every so often.**

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**Amidst the mist and coldest frosts****, with barest wrists and stoutest boasts. ****He thrusts his fists against the posts. ****And still insists he see's the ghosts."- English tongue twister**

**Jericus POV.**

The bridge looked like a maelstrom of lasbolts, hard-rounds, explosions, and debris, Jericus could scarcely believe the sight. It seemed so far from his first time in such an active battle, but his gut still clenched, and despite all of his training his animal instinct for self-preservation begged for him to flee. However, that same training kept him firmly on course as he along with the rest of his squad advanced toward the bridge.

To call such a thing a bridge was to be modest however, on Surris cities were rarely built upwards, and the relatively flat plains negated the need for bridges in most areas. So to him this structure in front of him was nothing short of gargantuan, it was practically a city unto itself. The question formed in his mind as soon as he saw the monolithic mass… how the keck where they bringing this thing down?

His squad, made up of a mix of Death Korps grenadiers and Hoarfell recon troopers came upon what looked to be the commander of the operation taking place. Jericus could make out the distinct uniform of a Randon drop-trooper, the bright crimson red practically daring any enemy sniper to end the life of the woman who wore it. Said woman was currently speaking into a long range vox transmitter, furiously relaying orders while being fed information about the battle taking place.

"Listen to me you little snetch, I don't care if the Emperor himself comes parading past you in his underwear you will focus on your objective and hold that line!" She stated explosively cutting off the connection afterwards. Watchmaster B-63 cleared his throat loudly to catch the woman's attention, the Randon turning quickly, reflective faceplate up. The weariness in her face was as obvious as the determination as she gestured at the joint group almost dismissively.

"Great, more skull-faces and spooks, just what I need," she said with exasperation.

Watchmaster B-63 seemed to pretend not to notice her more than lackluster statement and got right to the point. "We're here by request to make ourselves useful Ma'am, Watchmaster B-63 reporting for duty."

"Commander Thresa Goss, and all commentary aside I'm glad to have you all, we desperately need this bridge to go down, and from what I've been hearing that won't be happening unless we get as many bodies on the line as possible to stop those traitors from steamrolling over it," Commander Goss said pointedly.

"If you don't mind I'd like to know the situation before my troopers and I go and fulfill our duty to the Emperor, Commander," B-63 said professionally.

"Well I'm afraid I'm a bit dark on the entirety myself Watchmaster, vox has been giving us trouble with all the interference, but the good news is at the moment a good amount of your boys and girls are holding the line, not for too much longer I think but let's try and stay optimistic. Anyway, you all need to buy me at least another ten minutes."

"How do you plan on taking down the bridge in ten minutes?"

"Melta-bombs on the support struts, a metric-shit-ton of 'em, you see me and my boys were dropped here to take care of the bridge hours ago, command figured three platoons of Randon could hit the bridge hard enough and quickly enough to get the job done before the enemy would know what to do. Too bad the snetches are quick on the response, once we realized this was gonna be a prolonged fight I called in for reinforcements. Right now my sappers are setting the bombs, but to do that they have to get to the struts… which are under the bridge." Goss let the statement hang in the air for B-63 for a moment.

"Meaning the use of grav-chutes to plant the bombs," he responded promptly.

"Exactly, which is very difficult to do, lucky for us Randon sappers are trained for this sort of thing, unlucky for us that traitors tend to take pot-shots at them if they're not occupied with ducking from return fire. Meaning you and your trooper's better get to the line Watchmaster, and I mean now, once the bombs are set you'll get the warning over vox… hopefully. I know you skull-faces aren't keen on running, but I suggest you get off that bridge once you get the call."

"Understood Commander where on the line do you need us?"

"Eastern side of the bridge, the actual side of the bridge mind you by the railing, last I heard they were having trouble, now you really should be moving." The commander turned away abruptly to begin yelling into the vox yet again, leaving the squad to get on with their orders.

Heading toward the epicenter of the fighting was like running through a keck, Jericus just substituted the razor-sharp ice with lasbolts, hardrounds, and shrapnel. The squad's destination came into view quickly enough, a ragged line made up of the burnt out husks of autocars, sandbags, and just about anything else the guardsmen could throw between them and enemy fire.

Friendly forces were a healthy mix of Death Korps, and Hoarfell with a sprinkle of Randon thrown in like seasoning. There were no orders given by B-63, everyone took up position as it became available and melded into the line already composed by their comrades. Rebels and PDF were only being held back by the combined fire, but the real work was being done by two heavy stubbers manned by the few Randon on the line.

All the same the enemy seemed to be whipped into a fanatic frenzy, they knew that if the Imperials succeeded in destroying the bridge that the fight for the southern sector would be all but lost. Jericus took carefully aimed shots at individuals who were literally throwing themselves at the line of deadly weapons-fire. So intense was the guardsmen's fire output that enemy troopers were literally being blown apart. Jericus noted with satisfaction as an enemy's head seemed to explode like an overripe melon, clearly a hotshot round shot by Fenria.

The only reason he could tell in the mess of bright flashes that it had been her was because she was both next to him and because throughout training they had been partners during weapon-drills. He'd know that precision instinctively anywhere. Unfortunately that precision wasn't helping much to stem the tide of bodies coming at the line, rebels in their makeshift uniforms threw themselves into the torrent of Imperial fire, meanwhile the PDF moved up utilizing covering fire as best they could between autocabs and sandbags.

In short the enemy was going to overrun their position, it was only a matter of time, and this was punctuated by a rebel quite literally throwing himself at Jericus as he was reloading. The man came flying over the makeshift barricade, some kind of handmade long-blade in hand; Jericus brought his lasgun forward driving the bayonet into the rebels gut and then upward into his chest. Still the rebel had some life left in him despite being skewered and swung his blade at Jericus' head, luckily it was just a glancing blow on his helmet and knocked him to the side rather than decapitate him, or slice his throat.

Stunned Jericus fell to the side the rebel's weight pushing him down, still flailing the rebel was trying to get a killing blow in screaming all the while in both pain and rage. Jericus let go of his lasgun to catch the rebel's blade hand to hold it at bay while his other reached for the trench-axe at his belt. Choking up all the way on the axe he pulled it free thrusting the mono-edged axe-head up into the rebel's throat, supremely sharp metal easily cleaved through flesh and spinal cord.

Finally he wrenched to the side pulling the axe free and letting the severed head fall from the rebel's shoulders, hitting him in the face and drenching him in arterial spray. Quickly wiping the lens of his mask Jericus pushed the body off of him and got to his feet to find that the line was now really in trouble. The traitorous forces sheer numbers starting to overwhelm the line, the rebel that had careened into him was the first of many, Jericus' comrades having not come to his aid simply because they had to focus on their own attackers.

He searched frantically for Fenria, but every Korpsman looked alike, especially in the close fighting, so it was next to impossible for him to find her. Whilst looking around he saw most every guardsman along the line fighting in pitched close quarter combat, desperately trying to beat back the enemy. As he scanned each scene of individual carnage he was vaguely aware of a few familiar faces, mostly Hoarfell troopers from his squad. The field medic Harding smashing a rebel's teeth in with his lasgun's stock, Spores sticking a PDF trooper over and over again through the sternum, and Wilhelm being thrown off the side of the bridge by a particularly burly PDF trooper.

In fact it was Wilhelm's scream that snapped Jericus out of his trance of searching saving him as he noticed the sight of another rebel charging him, this one with an autogun with its bayonet mounted. Jericus choked down on his axe to get a properly long reach and prepared for the oncoming attack, he parried the thrust as he was trained to throwing the momentum of it to the side as well as the deadly blade.

However, the rebel threw out an elbow connecting with the side of Jericus' head which clanked off of his helmet jarring him slightly. Jericus retaliated by stomping on the rebels knee, a sickening _crack_ resounding as it bent at an unnatural angle, the rebel fell to his knees as he lost support of the leg. Recovering from the earlier blow Jericus swung his axe horizontally cleaving through the rebel's neck an arc of crimson trailing after the axe head. Kicking the dying man in his chest Jericus cleared the way for his next attacker, a PDF trooper coming at him with a saber, surely an officer of some kind.

Fast as he could Jericus drew his combat knife in his opposite hand from the axe, the PDF officer opened with a thrust at his chest. Using his axe Jericus hooked the oncoming thrust keeping the mono-edged metal away from his body; however the man was skilled deftly redirecting his blade for a reverse cut. Jericus jumped back, the blade grazing his chestplate leaving a fairly deep horizontal cut across the sturdy carapace armour. Not letting up on his advantage the officer thrust yet again closing the distance between them, in response Jericus sidestepped the attack and chopped downward with his axe at the mans overextended wrist.

Mono-edge met cloth, flesh, and bone severing hand from arm all the while the PDF officer screamed through gritted teeth, leaving no time for him to react Jericus thrust his knife forward into the mans chest, and then swung the trench-axe upward burying the spiked end up through the bottom jaw and into the officer's cranium the _crack, squelch_ of the action bringing an end to the fight. Withdrawing his weapons from the body Jericus turned his attention back to the world at large again, the heavy stubbers had been overrun, and now the line was collapsing.

He saw as comrades from all regiments began to fall back, and a fellow Korpsman approaching him, he noticed the longlas she held, Fenria.

"S-1049, we're falling back! Come on we need to provide covering fire for the others." She yelled out over the din of combat. Jericus immediately knew what she was talking about, standard practice when giving ground in the Korps, you never just turned your back and fled if it could be helped. You fell back in groups, one facing the enemy to provide cover fire while the other ran back to cover, and then those who ran would turn and provide covering fire for their comrades to get even further, alternating so that the enemy was always being fired upon to slow their advance.

They did this because once you turn your back, once the enemy sees you running they see easy prey, and all hesitation to kill you goes out the window. Jericus nodded his understanding as she and another two troopers stopped beside him, these two both Hoarfell Spores, and Harding to be exact. Sheathing his combat knife and axe Jericus scrambled forward and retrieved his lasgun, still embedded into the rebel that had tackled him.

Finally switching the spent powerpack he began to add his own fire to the others covering the retreat of his comrades who ran past them and further back toward more distant cover. From what he could see there was still a good number of guardsmen left, but the line seemed broken and the rebels and PDF advanced mercilessly. Jericus scored two more kills in that time peppering one PDF'er with three shots to the chest and a rebel with one clean headshot.

"Set! Go! We hold at the new position." The words were yelled through the vox and the air. The code to let them know to fall back because their comrades were set up to cover their retreat, and like that as one the groups providing covering fire turned and crouch ran toward their comrades who had now set up another defensive line situated at a narrower part of the bridge, chunks of debris blocking off a portion of the open space forming a choke point. Jericus and the others rejoined the rest forming up along the new defensive line and turned back toward the enemy advance.

They lacked the suppressive fire of the heavy stubbers, but the bottleneck created by the debris allowed the small arms they had left to be almost as effective at holding back the tide of enemy troopers. Jericus felt his stomach twisting as he saw the enemy advance, the rebels, and PDF troopers were in even more of a frenzy, and their chaotic charge border-lined on fanaticism more than actual tactical necessity.

So numerous and packed together were the enemy forces that the guardsmen simply couldn't miss, it was a literal wall of bodies coming toward them. The line seemed in danger of being overrun again when a staccato of explosions rippled through the upper reaches of the bridge sending chunks of masonry and other debris falling down a scant five meters in-front of the line.

The front of the enemy advanced was crushed and buried by the debris and the overall advance halted for the moment giving the guardsmen time to catch their collective breaths.

"What the keck was that?" Jericus asked voice shaky from the high of adrenaline and battle.

"Little present we had setup in case this happened," replied a nearby Randon trooper, Jericus nodded in understanding.

"Yeah well don't get comfortable troopers it won't hold them for long," Watchmaster B-63 supplied.

"Don't worry skull-face it won't have to, orders've come through, they're blowing this hunk-a-schlock to hell soon. That means we've gotta vacate the premises boys and girls," a nearby Hoarfell sergeant yelled back having just gotten off the long-range vox-unit operated by one of his men.

"Well then best not wait around here for that, fall back troopers," the Randon from before shouted, and then began the guardsmen's retreat to the safe-end of the colossal bridge. Caught up in the crowd Jericus did his best to keep an eye out for Fenria, locating her only by the longlas she held, the guardsmen kept up the covering retreat they had earlier incase the enemy managed to scale the wall of debris blocking the path. Lucky for them that proved to be unnecessary as they finally made it to the end of the bridge and the ad-hoc command station setup by the Randon platoons earlier that day.

"Easternmost side clear Commander," the Randon sergeant from before stated into his vox-bead the reply was static-filled, but understandable.

"Excellent news sergeant! Alright boys blow it,"

A familiar hissing could be heard under the cacophony of weapons fire as the dozens of melta-bombs began to go off, the low hiss was abruptly followed by a roaring blast. Support struts reduced to slag, or otherwise severely damaged the bridge's superstructure began to groan like a wounded leviathan as the titanic structure collapsed taking hundreds of rebel and PDF troopers with it into the urban canyon below it.

Most of the guardsmen let out a cheer to celebrate their hard-won and tide-turning victory over the enemy, Commander Goss visibly sagged as a sigh of relief wracked her body, long hours of fighting having finally come to an end in the best way possible, and then the commander straightened up. "Alright guardsmen enough celebration, we've still got a war to win and that means we need to head north and finally re-connect with the main offensive force. Word has come down from on high; we're taking the main spire and putting an end to this little uprising. Cheers come after," Goss bellowed over the cheers.

The guardsmen went quiet as murmurs began to pass through the ranks at the mention of the new objective. Jericus, standing next to Fenria as he often was, steeled himself for this final obstacle, so focused he hadn't noticed the Randon trooper walk up behind him, slapping him on the back in a friendly manner the Randon chuckled.

"Thinking about switching regiments blank?" The man stated with mirth before continuing to walk past him. Jericus looked at him quizzically for a moment before Fenria nudged him to get his attention.

"There's red on you," she stated matter-of-factly.

It was then Jericus looked down to notice that he was covered in blood, and then he remembered it was from his hasty decapitation earlier. Jericus then sighed wearily as he realized that the blood would be hell to get out of his uniform, the quartermasters were going to have a fit over this.

"Cheer up there S-1049, we have a long march ahead of us to get to the main spire, I'm sure you can get that cleaned off before the final battle," B-80 replied overeagerly.

"March," Jericus stated indifferently, B-80 simply took the bland statement for a question.

"Yeah, command won't waste transport on us, 'specially since we're relatively close to the objective, orders are to link up with our main forces and storm the 'dark tower' so to speak, you gotta pay attention S-1049, we can't give the other regiments more reasons to call us blanks." B-80 supplied stating the last part jokingly, "and that means fall into line trooper."

Jericus then noticed the now swift procession of troopers around their little group, the rest of his squad having formed up around him, Fenria, and B-80. Taking the cue he formed up as well, spaced out the large procession of guardsmen presented a harder target for any would-be attackers and they all began to march toward their objective.

Not far down the marching procession Raltia Lupa marched with her own squad, having gotten to the bridge one hour prior they had been on the line for some time fending off the rebel forces. The Arbites they had encountered stayed with them in order to lend their assistance for the battle.

Raltia was very tired the time since the _twisted grox_ had been shot out of the air nothing short of exhausting and there was still more ahead. In contrast her squad-mates all seemed very enthusiastic about the whole ordeal, Randon blood got excited in a fight it seemed. She listened as hundreds of feet clattered against rockcrete creating a somewhat disjointed beat, and then she noticed something rising up above that sound.

_Rata-ta-ta-tat, rata-ta-ta-tat, rata-ta-ta-tat,_ it was steady and constant and getting louder and more insistant as the seconds passed.

"What's that sound," She questioned aloud to herself, some sort of instrument to be sure but it sounded foreign compared to any she'd known on Surris.

"That'd be them Hoarfell spooks, they like to march to the beat, keep themselves in step," Barach supplied from her right.

"Yeah, have to admit though it's a catchy tune," Anrai put in.

"Yes it is trooper, what say we give 'em all a catchy tune of our own?" Sergeant Joss said a smile in her voice, "Ground pounder version of course, corporal if you would be so kind."

"Gladly Ma'am," Barach cleared his throat and then,"Sound off!"

"One, two," was called from further up the line.

"Sound off!" Barach said again his voice taking on a gleeful tone.

"Three, four!" was called back with more energy.

Then starting low and beginning to gain volume a Randon trooper began to sing.

"He was just a rookie trooper and he surely shook with fright, he checked all his equipment and made sure his pack was tight; he had to sit and listen to those awful bolters roar,"

"You ain't gonna fight no more!" Was chorused back and then the Randon began in earnest.

_Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,_

_Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,_

_Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,_

_He ain't gonna fight no more!_

The Hoarfell drummer from before changed his beat to something that would go along better with the cheerful and upbeat voices of the Randon as they began to really pick up.

"'Is everybody happy?' cried the Commissar looking up,

Our Hero feebly answered 'Yes,' and then they stood him up;

He jumped over the trench, his lasgun pointing up," trooper Ness sung.

_He ain't gonna fight no more!_

_Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,_

_Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,_

_Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,_

_He ain't gonna fight no more!_

The rest of the guardsmen around them joined in on the chorus, even the usually stoic death korps, and the combined voices seemed to vibrate the ground more than their boot-falls.

"He counted long, he counted loud, he waited for the shock, he felt the mud, he felt the cold, he felt the awful pop, the mud flew up, and splashed into his eyes, as the auto-cannon roared," This time a Hoarfell trooper sung loud above the beating drum.

_He ain't gonna fight no more!_

_Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,_

_Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,_

_Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,_

_He ain't gonna fight no more!_

"The carapace concaved around his neck, and shrapnel cracked his dome, his webbing tied in knots around his skinny bones; the mud became his shroud; he fell right to the ground," Multiple troopers at once sang together.

_He ain't gonna fight no more!_

_Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,_

_Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,_

_Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,_

_He ain't gonna fight no more!_

_The days he'd lived and loved and laughed kept running through his mind,_

_He thought about the girl back home, the one he'd left behind;_

_He thought about the medicae, and wondered what they'd find,_

_He ain't gonna fight no more!_

_Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,_

_Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,_

_Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,_

_He ain't gonna fight no more!_

_The stretcher team was on the spot, the chimera were running wild,_

_The medics jumped and screamed with glee, they rolled up their sleeves and smiled,_

_For it had been a week or more since last a trooper fell,_

_He ain't gonna fight no more!_

_Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,_

_Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,_

_Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,_

_He ain't gonna fight no more!_

_The round had hit, the sound was "BOOM!", his blood went spurting high;_

_His comrades, then were heard to say "A hell of a way to die!"_

_He lay there, rolling 'round in the welter of his gore,_

_He ain't gonna fight no more!_

_Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,_

_Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,_

_Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,_

_He ain't gonna fight no more!_

The chorus of guardsmen slowed for the final verse, solemn in the rendition.

_ There was blood upon his tunic, there were brains upon the ground,_

_Intestines were a-dangling from his carapace-armour down,_

_He was a mess, they picked him up, and poured him from his boots,_

_He ain't gonna fight no more._

_Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,_

_Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,_

_Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,_

_He ain't gonna fight no more!_

As they finished the marching song Raltia noticed that now everyone in the procession marched in step, the song had livened up their spirits and given them all unity. Raltia then realized that for all the fighting, insults, and general bickering among the three regiments that they were all guardsmen, and they were all together in this.

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**A/N: Singing bit may have been a tad much, but perhaps it will dredge up a few more reviews eh? So it's begging you want huh... I'm not really into the whole begging thing, nothing wrong with it, but what's left of my dignity would never forgive me. Kindly review dear readers, see you next week... maybe, the price of one review from a new source is required for the next chapter, there are at least 60-75 of you following consistently, and I believe in you. I probably won't hold the story hostage like that, seems petty really, but I might consider such depraved action.**

**300-709**


	12. Burned His Shadow Away

**"He wears a mask, and his face grows to fit it."- George Orwell**

**POV-Third person, multiple**

The initial march on the main spire had been mostly uneventful for the mixed contingent of guardsmen Jericus found himself in, but upon arrival the already battle weary imperials had only pitched combat as greeting. Lasfire and tracer rounds whizzed back and forth from fortified positions and the air was thick with the smell of cordite and ionizing particles. Imperial forces had essentially surrounded the heavily fortified main spire, the hub of city-32, with its fall the Imperials were practically guaranteed a quick wrap up of the campaign.

It was just too bad that the traitorous elements of the Tartarian PDF as well as the rebels had shut up the spire tighter than a crabs arse. Jericus' thoughts weren't really focused on these particular facts though; no for him he was again lost in the sheer scale of city-32, the main spire being the largest structure he had seen by far, a small city in its own right.

Baroque architecture rose high into the clear square around the spire, skyways flowed to and from various levels of the spire connecting it as though it were the brain to city-32's nervous system. Blocky, almost sharp looking chunks of building made for and imposing visage, the domed roof topping off the magnificent structure, though none on the ground could see such from their vantage.

"S-1049, pay attention," Fenria whispered sharply dragging him back into the present situation. So occupied with admiring the local architecture Jericus had been ignoring what would be their battle plan being relayed by Watchmaster B-63.

"So, it seems some Hoarfell scouts have found a maintenance passage leading into the bowls of the spire, unguarded and ripe for us to pay the enemy a visit. Now apparently the spire has void shields on all of the entrances above ground, our job is to get in there and disable those shields so that the rest of our forces can storm the castle and bring this fight to an end," B-63 elaborated. "Our Hoarfell friends are waiting for us at the entrance of the passage, so we best not keep 'em waiting, time to move out troopers."

Jericus started forward in step with everyone else, his fire-team now down a man along with their Hoarfell counterparts as well as the remnants of Sergeant Joss' own squad the ones tasked with the mission. The team being relatively small to make movement easier once they reached the inside of the spire.

The conglomerate of troopers made their way through the streets surrounding the spire, catching glimpses of small firefights occurring between their comrades and enemy forces left outside of the spire, whether deliberately or simply abandoned by their commanders Jericus wasn't sure. Though judging from the near chokehold the Guard had around the perimeter of the spire he would guess the former.

Walking through the war-torn, desolate streets Jericus was reminded of his home city Clonevan during the waning days of the six month war on Surris. By the end of that small time period Clonevan had practically been reduced to rubble, the husks of former buildings looming over their residents like the corpses of leviathans forgotten in the annals of time.

City-32 was so much bigger though, and while the rubble and debris clogged streets as well as the blown out building faces were apparent the shear scale of it all made these destructive results of war seem to be little more than scratches to the goliath that was City-32.

Soon enough their small column came to what looked to be the entrance to a fairly big tunnel tucked away behind two massive buildings and all but completely obscured from the outside world. At the entrance of the tunnel they saw the Hoarfell scouts that had found their entrance into the spire.

Jericus was more than a little surprised to see that it was none other than Xavier's fire-team waiting for them, the grizzled Sergeant Grimes standing up from his seat on a chunk of rockcrete to come and greet them while the rest also began to remove themselves from the ground, or their places leaning against a nearby wall.

"Good to see you again Watchmaster B-63, I was hoping that'd be you the 82nd would be sending, and even Sergeant Joss, a pleasure as always Ma'am," Grimes greeted a grin blooming across his scared face.

"You as well Sergeant, I hope we didn't keep you and your men waiting too long," B-63 spoke up first.

"No, not at all, blank timing continues to be perfect Watchmaster," Grimes remarked offhandedly, though not unfriendly.

"Enough with the pleasantries gentlemen, let's get this done, my troopers are itching for some action," Joss interjected.

"Yes Ma'am," the two responded quickly.

"Good, then lead the way Sergeant Grimes," Joss' face held a satisfied smirk, though it was obscured by the mirrored faceplate of her helmet.

"Hold on to that thought Sergeant, can't go anywhere without me," a female voice stated, the tone mechanical with what sounded like synthesized cheer. Jericus found his attention drawn to the now obvious figure standing within the Hoarfell group, her red robes telltale signs of the cult Mechanicus. One arm seemingly normal judging by what was visible past the robes sleeve the other augmetic, ball joints rotating it at unnatural angles seemingly of its own volition—a nervous tick perhaps—meanwhile two mechadendrites flowed around her robed form, one going to idly pick at the material while the other adjusted the hood. From under the hood peered green-lit optics that replaced her eyes apart from which the rest of her face appeared free of any obvious augmetics.

"Watchmaster B-63, it's good to see you again," she giggled at the slight twitch of the 82nd veteran.

"Why are you here Kerelia," B-63 questioned with some genuine surprise and concern in his voice Jericus noted.

"What? You think any of you could disable a void shield generator?"

"The cog-girl's right, other than blowing it up us grunts wouldn't have a clue. And from what Miss Chevel here has been telling me for the last twenty minutes that would be a very bad idea," B-63 gave Grimes a look. "In other words we need her Watchmaster."

Jericus could tell from his body language that B-63 did not like that piece of news one bit; the man all but groaned his frustration at the situation. For her part Kerelia simply gave another giggle, something a little disturbing simply because of the partially mechanical sound to it.

"Don't worry 'bout it 63, it'll be just like old times, besides you know I'm more than capable of taking care of myself, being a tech-priestess in service to the Imperial Guard I ought to be," she stated with mirth in her voice. "Now I think Sergeant Joss has the right idea, let's get this show on the road." She turned to make her way toward the tunnel. B-63 still stood in place, from his stance it was easy to tell that he was glaring at the retreating tech-priestess.

"First time I ever saw a blank stunned," Sergeant Joss commented idly as she led her squad past B-63 and his fire-team, some of them chuckling at his expense. Grimes merely gave the Watchmaster what seemed to be an apologetic shrug before turning and following after the servant of the mechanicus, his own men following him.

"Watchmaster," Fenria piped up, noticing her superior still unmoving. Her unspoken question prompted the man into action as he ordered them to move out and follow their comrades who were already disappearing into the gloom of the tunnel.

Once inside the group formed with the korpsmen on point their heavier armour making them the best choice incase of conflict, Hoarfell in the middle guarding Kerelia, and Randon taking up the rear of the formation. The tunnel was big, just like everything in city 32; Jericus took to peering into the gloom of the off-shoots trying to discern what could be lurking in those dank corridors.

Images of monstrous orks flooded his mind, maniacally grinning green faces filled with jagged and uneven tusk-like teeth, small pig-eye's gleaming with perverted joy, and all for the ending of his life. How such things could exist in the universe he honestly still could hardly fathom, on Surris he had been sheltered, and then that ignorance had been shattered.

"The main branch we're following right now should lead us to the generator room. Schematics of the spire indicate that it was built in the sub-level where we'll end up, intel suggests that there should be minimal if any enemy guards, seems they're too occupied with the outside assault to bother with it. Plus the tunnel is very obscure in the blueprints, so they probably won't even expect us to even know about it," Kerelia piped up from the middle, her cheerful tone breaking Jericus from his dark thoughts.

"That's great… I assume it was you that found these schematics," B-63 probed.

"Never assume 63, it makes an ass out of you and me," she chuckled back, tone playful. "But yeah, yeah it was me, and let me tell you the General was very glad that I had."

"I bet he was, the old man will do anything to get a fight over quick as possible. We probably could have cracked into the spire by sheer force, but that would have probably taken days, and lost us quite a few men," Grimes put in. It was well known among the three regiments that the Hoarfell General Augustus Flend was the one in charge, the colonels of both the 82nd and 145th deferred to his judgment should he push an issue.

"Knowing the colonel he may have disapproved…" B-63 let his comment hang in the air.

"Oh he did. Didn't want to waste men going through here on what could be a wild goose chance," the cog-girl supplied.

"I thought you said this will lead to the generator, and its 'chase', not chance," Sergeant Joss spoke up, her tone questioning yet indifferent.

The tech-priestess laughed somewhat sheepishly. "Well it should, the schematics are old, and I had to dig through a lot of garbage data to find them, that cogitator's spirits weren't happy with me. But records indicate that city-32's central Spire hasn't gone through any renovation for decades, so the general trusted me enough to give me a squad of troopers, all of you, to get me there."

"Kerelia if this turns out like Foobar-three…"

"Will you stop bringing that up 63? I said I was sorry, anyway this isn't gonna turn out anything like that, I'm positive the Omnissiah wouldn't lead me wrong on this," she said interrupting B-63's comment.

"Fine, but you still owe me for what happened," B-63 stated seriously.

"Would you look at that, looks like we're here," the cog-girl said seeming to completely ignore the Watchmaster.

An open and very dusty hatchway lead into an expanded room where the void generator was currently buzzing away to produce the shields for the entire bottom floor of the main spire, consoles stood out easily, though the numerous and confusing configurations of the buttons left everyone save Kerelia scratching their heads.

"You'd think they'd have guards down here what with it being so important and all," Cain whispered to Xavier who nodded in reply his eyes glued to the buzzing generator.

"Most of this is controlled from the main cogitator in the upper reaches of the Spire. We're gonna take it offline from the main analogue interface, the governor probably doesn't even know it can be shutdown from anywhere else," Kerelia spoke offhandedly surprising Cain who hadn't known of her enhanced hearing.

Moving past the gawking guards she went directly to the control console, her hands, and mechadendrites becoming a blur of motion as she began to work on shutting the generator down. Scant moments passed before the generators constant buzz began to whine down, finally becoming silent as the grave.

"Okay and we're good to go, best vox that in to command," wiping her forehead dramatically as if she had built up a sweat, though her augmetic parts made that nearly impossible.

Sergeant Joss turned to her incredulously. "That's it?" Her expression full of uncertainty clear to all since she had flipped her face-plate up.

"Of course, this is so old I could operate it in my sleep. Generator ain't on anymore, and the shields should be fizzling out right about now," she stated matter-of-factly tapping a chronometer built into her augmetic arm.

"Well that went surprisingly smooth," Sergeant Grimes commented. "You heard the lady Xavier; get the news voxed to command."

Xavier quickly began to work his vox-unit to relay the information. "This is task-group gamma, do you read command," a pause as the answer came through. "Affirmative, Magos Chevel has just finished shutting down the void-shield generator. Repeat void-shields are down, offensive is a go over," he clicked off waiting for the response; listening intently he heard the slightly static-filled words seep through the connection.

"Copy sir will do, over and out," turning toward the group he took a breath. "Magos Chevel, command wants you to get to the main control room for the spire to find out where the governor will be and to disable any internal defenses that might hinder our comrades. We will be continuing to escort you,"

"Sounds fantastic to me, now we shouldn't dally, main control is this way, but first I'd like a word with you fine C.O's," she responded cheerily.

"Great more time for things to go toss-up," B-63 muttered to himself. Jericus felt his curiosity bubbling up at the strange interactions that had been happening between his watchmaster and the magos.

"What do you think is up between the Watchmaster and her," he decided to voice his question to Fenria quietly, the watchmaster was a bit away and luckily the cog-girl was animatedly discussing something with him while he just nodded along, probably information on the spire pertaining to their extended mission.

"This troopers woman senses are tingling," she stated with slight curiosity of her own.

"Ah, so you two want in on the pool," the two jumped at B-80's sudden intrusion. "No need to get jumpy troopers, it's fairly common knowledge that B-63 and Magos Chevel have a past of sorts. The current pool among the grenadiers is up to 800 crowns, bets are on if the two will ever get over their issues and just get together already," he chuckled good-naturedly.

"So, what happened on Foobar-three," Fenria piped up after a moment.

"Chevel had some similar plan based on blueprints of a power plant. Long story short it was a toss-up and a few of our people died," B-80 elaborated with a slight sigh. "You can't blame her too much though; we make decisions in war, and there are gonna be times when they backfire on us. But B-63 is a stubborn man, so instead we get to watch all that sexual tension until it boils over… or they kill each other,"

"Wouldn't a relationship be against regulations," Jericus questioned.

B-80 laughed, "Of course it would, but that wouldn't stop it from happening though. You two'll see soon enough our three regiments are closer than they like to let on, and more easy-going than what the 82nd puts on."

"Anyway, enough talk, looks like we're getting ready to move out," B-80 commented indicating the discussion the Magos was having with the C.O's ending.

"Alright boys an' girls you heard the Magos let's not dally," Sergeant Joss stated loudly, pulling her helmets ballistic plate down, and resounding click indicating it locked into place.

The group turned toward the only other exit in the room, forming up the same, as they were before to better protect the cog-girl. Opening the hatch slowly Jericus was on point covering the left while B-80 did the same for the right, finding that the passage was clear the rest of the group filtered through the hatchway quickly.

"Should be to the right," Kerelia commented.

Shifting right the group went down the bland passageway which gradually became more decorated as they went further into the bowls of the spire. They could also hear the sounds of fighting, as they got closer to what would be the ground floor of the spire.

Judging by the sounds Jericus guessed that their comrades had just blitzed through the rebels defenses and were probably fighting through the main entrance and into the adjoining rooms toward the stairs and lifts. The plan was to take the Spire one floor at a time, they had the numbers to do it, and command wanted the spire as intact as possible, which meant no explosives.

Suddenly up ahead a group of five PDF rebels rounded the corner stopping suddenly when they saw the imperials facing them down the long corridor. Reacting quickly Jericus and his comrades dropped to their knees and began to fire on the stunned rebels, their crouched position allowed the Randon troopers behind them to add their own weapons to the deadly barrage. The rebels were simply cut to pieces by the deadly light projected at them, nothing but a smoking pile of meat by the end of the hail of lasfire.

"Keep moving they probably won't have heard that with what's happening all around the main floor right now. The lift we need to take shouldn't be too far now." Kerelia urged them to continue moving. Rounding the corner the group treaded over the remains, light squishing sounds emanating as their boots stepped on them. One of the Randon troopers even slid slightly into the wall eliciting a slight squeal of surprise from her lungs before she regained control and continued on.

Raltia thanked the emperor she hadn't fallen into the charred human remains, if not for the fact that it made her squeamish than because of the sheer embarrassment and ribbing it would no doubt have caused her. Luckily the others didn't seem to pay her near trip any mind, she could tell the Randon around her were too hopped-up and anxious for a fight to notice.

Finally making their way into a spacious room meant for visitors the group came face to face with what would be their first major opposition, a full squad of PDF rebels who had been on their way most likely to reinforce their comrades at the entrances.

Everyone instantly ran or otherwise dove for cover, the visitor room offering ample opportunities from the plush furniture to hard dividers and tables. Jericus managed to kick over a table and crouch low behind the decorated plassteel, Fenria to the left of him and Raltia crashing down right next to her. Instantly the rebels started to fire upon them, the imperials returning from their better positions. Peaking around the cover of the table Jericus began to return fire scoring a glancing hit on a rebel obliterating the unfortunate mans shoulder and sending him back down into his cover behind a plassteel divider howling in pain.

Suddenly the cover he had been firing at was awash in brilliant blue energy as a plasma bolt impacted it melting the plassteel divider and scorching those unfortunate enough to be behind it. Looking over to their left all at once the three Surrin conscripts found the origination of the plasma bolt; Magos Chevel held an ancient looking plasma pistol attached to her seemingly human hand. They watched as she discharged another shot.

Soaring through the air lighting it as it went the bolt impacted its target practically vaporizing two rebels and severely scorching three more around them. The burned men screamed as their flailing brought them into the line of fire of everyone else's lasguns, ending their pained wails. Raltia noted the cog-girls somewhat manic grin—not unlike those she'd seen on her comrade's faces during a fight—her conclusion being that the Magos was a complete nut.

Jericus and Fenria had similar thoughts, but pushed them away to capitalize on the rebels dwindling cover as the cog-girl used her deadly weapon to deprive them of it. Furniture and plassteel fixtures alike simply became slag, or just ceased to exist under the tremendous heat of the plasma. Out in the open the rebels were easy targets and the imperials made quick work of them.

Fenria blasted a perfect hole through one rebel's chest with her long-las, Raltia put five shots into another, and Jericus put three more into a third. The rest were taken down by the combined fire of everyone, the weapons fire died down abruptly as the imperials realized they had won. Around twenty rebels lay dead or simply gone from the plasma and the room in front of them a ruined mess.

Feathers of some dead exotic bird from formerly plush furniture floated comically through the still room in stark contrast to the carnage of the area.

Silence reined for a moment as they waited to see if anyone would come to investigate, though judging from the slightly muffled sounds of heavy fighting going on further outside of the spire they quickly judged that no one would be coming, at least not intentionally.

"Well that was fun, been a while since I was in a firefight, it's good to see I still got it," Kerelia commented blowing the rising steam away from her plasma pistols barrel the manic grin still on her face.

Jericus wondered idly how in the world B-63 could possibly harbor romantic feeling for this woman, sure he was a little eccentric himself, but the cog-girl was practically mental judging from the short time he had spent in her presence so far. Standing fully from cover he Fenria and Raltia fell instep with the rest of the group, formation abandoned by the sheer need to cover ground and get to the lift.

Crossing the torn room they exited the way the rebels had come and found themselves at a lift bay, multiple lifts closed and waiting for them. Sergeant Grimes pushed a button to summon one and the imperials waited as the lifted descended to their level. Fifteen seconds into their wait a loud _ping_ echoed through the air, only it wasn't from the lift they were waiting on, because of well drilled training everyone seemed to turn as one toward the offending sound. The doors of the lift opened to reveal another squad of rebels who seemed to recoil at the sight of the imperials aiming their weapons at them.

"Oh shi-," the rebel that uttered was cutoff by the sound of the imperial weapons unloading all at once into the lift, lasbolts and a single plasma blast making short work of them. In the space of seconds task-group gamma had killed another full squad of rebels, the lift doors closing with another ping on the scene of carnage now occupying the enclosed space. Another ping signaled the arrival of their own lift, yet again everyone turned as one and faced the opening doors, ready for anymore surprises.

To most of their collective relief the space beyond was not occupied by enemy troopers, and the group boarded the rather large lift filling it up Kerelia at the back for protection.

"What level is the main control on Kerelia," B-63 question.

"All the way at the top 63,"

"Isn't that…" Cain began.

"Heavily guarded? Intel indicates no trooper Flynt, no need to worry the Lord Governor's supposedly throwing all he can at us on the bottom floors. Once our forces eliminate enemy resistance there the other floors are gonna be mostly mop-up work," the cog-girl put in as B-63 hit the rune for the top level, and with a jerking start the lift began to rise.

"Keep that door covered when it opens troopers, don't need some rebel scum doing to us what we did to their friends," Sergeant Joss stated. Everyone was way ahead of her on the order though as anyone who had a clear line of fire was aiming at the closed doors. The ride to the top was going to be long, and the cheery elevator music wasn't helping; Jericus' anxiousness began to act up, the jitters playing havoc with his right hand making it shake slightly. He was lucky that Fenria was the only one close enough to notice, and she gave him a small reassuring nudge in the ribs and his offending limb stopped all at once.

He gave her a slight nod in thanks and the ride continued on without his body acting up again, though the jitters in his stomach didn't stop. Ten minutes into the ride up and the atmosphere in the elevator was getting slightly awkward as everyone began to fidget due to anticipation. Cain and Kerelia began to hum along to the annoyingly cheerful music at the same time as if some unspoken agreement between the two prompted it.

Xavier cuffed Cain lightly on the back of his head to get him to stop, Cain grumbled something about killjoys, trying to lighten up the mood, and how the cog-girl got to keep humming. Said cog-girl chuckled audibly at the interaction before continuing her humming solo.

Finally with another ping the lift came to its destination the troopers instantly moving forward weapons up and fanning out of the lift into the empty space beyond, whether because of their training, or to get away from the annoying tune Jericus thought it was fifty-fifty. The lift bay they found themselves in was better furnished than the one below, sporting benches with pads on them for those who had to wait for the long time it took the lift to get to the top level. Clearly the padded seating was a consideration for the rich and powerful who would be the only ones allowed entrance to the upper-most floors.

"It'll be down the corridor on the left, it's a straight shot from there to the control room," Kerelia stated.

"You heard the Magos people, be ready for some combat. The 'Lord Governor' most likely had his best guarding him even with the rest down below fighting our comrades," B-63 primed his hellgun. "Lock and load people, fresh powerpacks."

Everyone made sure their ammo was full and then the group went down the corridor leading to the main control room. At the end of the corridor Kerelia had indicated the double doors to main control were tall and important looking yet not overly opulent. B-63 leading the group held up his fist for everyone to stop.

"I say we go for shock and awe," he produced a breeching charge. Both Sergeant Grimes and Joss gave nods of approval, he placed it to the doors, and set it, the group split off to the sides in preparation for the directed explosion and their entry.

"Alright troopers, in three, two, one," B-63 depressed the trigger for the charge and a booming explosion threw the heavy doors inward slamming them hard against the walls their hinges miraculously having held. Storming into the room the imperials were greeted by a sight they had not expected, the rebels that had been working the controls and monitoring the situation outside were all slumped dead over their consoles or on the floor. Elite PDF guards were dead on the floor, either cut apart or shot full of holes. Everyone seemed to stop and stare at the sight, most eyes coming to rest on the Lord Governors corpse resting in a command throne for the spire.

Next to him stood the sole living figure left alive from the carnage, he was tall, dark hair cropped short, with strange purple irises, and dressed in what looked to be a bastardized military uniform of some kind. A great coat of dark grey with epaulettes and other adornments, though it was tattered and well worn, at his hip he wore a saber, and hellpistol, in his hand was the dagger he had just used to kill the Governor evident by the fresh blood on the blade. Overall he look slightly surprised to see the imperials, as they were to see him, the silence intensified the situation.

Was this man friend or foe Jericus found himself wondering as he wiped the blood from the dagger on the dead Governors uniform and sheathed it somewhere behind his back.

"Well, well, well I must say that I hadn't seen this coming," the man said with a smirk on his lips.

B-63 went to speak, but the man beat him to the punch. "Hold that thought Watchmaster, to answer your question no I'm not part of the Imperial forces on the planet and this," he indicated the room, "was all simply a means to an end, though I must say I'm not usually into grand schemes, but it does make for a change of pace from my usual missions."

"Just who the warp are you then," Sergeant Joss snarled out.

"Ah, yes how rude of me," the man seemed hardly concerned with the many weapons pointed in his direction. "You can call me Georgii servant of freedom; it is my goal to ensure that the masses of this world and many others strike the shackles of bondage that have held them for so long."

"Right, well I'm going to have to ask you to get down on your knees and surrender peacefully, I'm sure my superiors will want to question you thoroughly," B-63 deadpanned, obviously they were dealing with a loon.

The man took a sharp intake of breath. "Oh I'm afraid that won't be possible my good man, you see before you lot got here I was in the middle of setting the charges needed to destroy this very room. Can't have your superiors finding out the info on these cogitators," he indicated the now apparent charges on various colonnades and support struts around the room. "As you can see we have about ten minutes to vacate the premises and I'm willing to let you all go, just simply walk away."

"63 Command wants the information, and something tells me they'd want this guy too. We can't just leave," Kerelia whispered heatedly.

"I'm well aware of that Magos," B-63 hissed in reply turning back to Georgii. "I'm afraid that won't be possible, you have ten seconds to surrender or we'll put you down."

"Well that certainly won't do, tell you what Watchmaster why don't you and your comrades sleep on it," Georgii stated a strange feeling seeping through the air.

"What are you…" suddenly B-63 fell to the floor out cold. Jericus watched as those around him all seemed to fall asleep thudding to the floor haphazardly, even the cog-girl with all of her augmetic replacements fell asleep.

"S-1050," he questioned Fenria's unconscious form with concern. Then he looked up to Georgii and it seemed to click all at once, this man was a psyker, so why was he not asleep like his comrades.

Georgii looked at him in mild bemusement. "My, well I hadn't seen that coming, and yet now it's so obvious, faint but easily seen now that you're all alone."

"What are you talking about witch," Jericus asked confused, the man was practically speaking in riddles.

"You lad, are a blank, very low level to be sure, but enough to be immune to my powers. I must say this is a complete surprise I never expected to see one of you on Tartarius of all places,"

Jericus was confused even more, why was this witch surprised to see him, blank? He certainly wasn't referring to the nickname for 82nd troopers, so what was he talking about?

"I don't need my powers to know what you're thinking right now lad. To put it simply you're the opposite of me, I am a beacon of psychic energy, and you are a null. In short you cancel me out," Georgii said simply.

Jericus still didn't understand entirely, but he knew he had to do something, the charges that this madman set were going to go off, and his comrades were helpless. He came to the conclusion that he would kill the witch and hope that his death would snap his comrades out of their induced trance. He quickly snapped off three shots at Georgii, two for the body, one for the head, and they would have hit if not for the sudden flare of the man's personal shield.

"Well that wasn't very sportsmanlike, but I applaud your initiative. I remember a time when I was like that… anyway if you want a fight I wouldn't mind a short duel. We've got about eight minutes before everything goes ka-boom." Drawing his saber Georgii closed the distanced between them so fast Jericus hardly had time to react.

Bringing up his lasgun he used it to block the attack, only to have it cleaved neatly in two, Georgii took a few steps back keeping his saber poised at his neck as Jericus dropped the two useless halves of his weapon.

"Maybe you can tell but I prefer the blade over the firearm. I did say we'd have a duel lad so don't look so down, I was merely getting rid of the temptation for you to shoot," Georgii withdrew his blade and took a few measured steps back leaving a slightly stunned korpsman. "Now I see you're a man after mine own heart, if you would be as kind as to draw your weapons let us be civilized and settle this as the powers that be intended. I'll even deactivate my sabers power-field so that the playing field is even. And we'll keep away from your comrades; this is between the two of us as men, no need for collateral."

It was then that Jericus realized how he had cleaved through his lasgun so easily as the sabers blue hazed energy field was dissipated. Jericus simply nodded as he drew his trench axe in his right hand and his combat knife with his left.

"There's a good lad," Georgii nodded in approval getting into a ready stance. Jericus mirrored him keeping his axe and knife at the ready waiting for his enemy to make the first strike. Swords were faster than axes, so he best bet was reaction, to counter and wait for his opponent to mess up to get in the killing blow.

Georgii didn't disappoint opening with a lighting quick thrust that Jericus just barely parried, and then a reverse cut when that failed. Again Jericus barely deflected the deadly mono-edged metal; he was back pedaling now as Georgii unleashed a flurry of thrusts and cuts. Jericus noted the man's skill was far past his own with an edged weapon and he could only defend as the man continued his tireless onslaught.

"I gotta say lad, you're good. I haven't had someone who was able to keep up with me for this long in quite a while," Georgii said as if he was talking with an old friend. To Jericus' fright the man didn't even seemed to be exerting himself, his breathing was still calm and steady. Parrying the next thrust Jericus saw his chance and hooked the sword arm with his knife arm keeping the blade past his body and putting himself in a safe zone. Choking up on his axe he went for a thrust to the throat only for his arm to be stopped by the psyker's own free hand before it reached the vital area.

"Very good, hardly anyone's got that close before," with inhuman strength Georgii shoved Jericus back. As he stumbled Jericus felt his hold on the arm fail and as a last ditch attempt sliced downward with his knife scoring a light slash on his opponent's sword-arm. Standing back he got back into a ready stance waiting for his opponent to attack again.

Georgii didn't even seem fazed by the wound left by the mono-edged knife blade, had Jericus gotten any luckier he could have easily lost a good chunk of muscle from his arm from mid-forearm down. "Yeah, definitely competent, and the fact that you're a blank makes you all the more dangerous," he lunged again.

Metal glinting in the light as it cut through the air toward Jericus who again parried, only this time catching a deep gash on his right bicep. He ignored the pain flinching at the sting but keeping up his defense, he knew that one slip and he would have more to worry about than a flesh wound.

This time Georgii batted Jericus' parry away through sheer strength and then slashed at his right leg, scoring another flesh wound, rounding out the attack with a kick to the chest sending him slamming into one of the colonnades around the control room. Even through his carapace armour Jericus felt the blow, he was winded, and he couldn't control his falling and sprawled out on his back losing his grip on his axe as he fell.

Activating the power-field on his saber Georgii quickly cut through the two-foot-thick colonnade twice once through the bottom and once higher up separating a large chunk of the structure and allowing it to fall down toward Jericus. Seeing his death coming toward him Jericus threw his body to the left, saving himself from being crushed, but not saving himself entirely. The stone, easily one ton of weight, square, and decorated in classic gothic style came down crushing his right arm and trapping him in place.

Strangely Jericus found himself detached from the pain, so sudden that it didn't seem to register to his mind. He struggled as best he could to remove his crushed limb from the cold embrace of the stone and that was when the agony hit, literally stalling all efforts to free himself as he struggled to simply stay conscious. He noticed the sound of boots against the hard floor and looked up to see Georgii coming to finish him.

Jericus held up his combat knife in a futile attempt to guard himself, his heart was hammering and he was sure that this was the end. Georgii merely kicked the offending weapon out of his grip and then crouched down next to his helpless form.

"Well look at you lad still defiant, even in the face of death, I like that kind of spirit, and so does my boss. Yeah I think he'd really like you, a blank, the kind of agent he could use to really thwart his enemies."

"W-what are y-you talking about heretic," Jericus huffed out, his breathing heavy and labored.

"Someone with true vision of course, I'm not sure if he'll be able to contact you through the usual means, but I have no doubt he's interested and will be watching you, or trying to anyway. Personally I revel in the chance that we might meet again, improve your skills lad because I'm sure that we will. When the time comes I'll either welcome you as a fellow agent, or we'll have a duel to truly remember," Georgii responded, patting Jericus' helmeted head.

"You're in-insane w-witch," Jericus breathed out slowly.

"No I'm an agent of freedom," he said back pausing as if to think for a moment. "I think I'll leave you a little something extra to remember me by lad, think of it as a gift. I'm sure the corpse worshippers will give you a brand new one, better than the last."

Before Jericus could think on what the madman meant he felt a peculiar sensation in his right eye, which he then realized ceased to work. His left watched as Georgii pulled his saber back from his face, the tip red with his blood. The blade had gone through his mask lens as if it wasn't even there and had buried itself into his eye socket, not deep enough to reach his brain, but enough to cleave his eye in two, the energy around the blade obliterating sensitive retinal tissues.

It was then that the pain unlike any he had experienced before flared through where his right eye should have been. He tried not to scream out in pain though his voice betrayed him letting out a horrible wail.

"Oh shush lad, like I said you'll probably get a new one, if you survive that is. Anyway I have an air-car to catch and you've got about five minutes before this room ceases to exist, so I bid you farewell," sheathing his saber Georgii departed walking out of Jericus' now impaired view, he had managed to get a hold on the pain as he had been trained to do and began to look for a way to get out. His comrades were still out cold and the room was set to blow up any moment. He vaguely heard the sound of shattering glass and the engines of an air-car as the madman who took his eye made his escape through the window.

Trying in vain to free his arm he gave up after a minute seeing that he wouldn't get free by simply pulling at his crushed limb, looking around his eye came to his trench-axe lying a few feet away. Instantly he knew what he had to do, mono-edged metal would make easy work of his arm… freeing him, but he realized with dismay that it was obviously way out of his reach pinned as he was. The situation was hopeless, looking over he notice the unconscious form of Fenria on the floor, and his thoughts switched to how he had never seen her face.

Focusing on her he noticed that she had begun to stir, whatever witchcraft the psyker had cast was wearing off, his hopes raised he instantly tried to grab her attention.

"S-1050," he yelled as loud as he could, she was still dazed as she got to her feet holding her head. "Fenria," his second louder attempt drew her attention.

Waking Fenria looked over toward where Jericus lay trapped and shaking the cobwebs from her mind she instantly went over to him. "Jericus, what happened," her training forgotten as his name slipped past her lips, the situation was fuzzy in her head. All she remembered was breeching the control room, the man, and then everything got hazy.

"No time Fenria, we have to get out of here you have to get me free," Jericus said the pain still with him but luckily the wounds weren't mortal, though what would have to happen next could be.

"Alright, how," she questioned right back noting the heavy stone, even if everyone else was awake they wouldn't have time to get it off him and she didn't like what she thought Jericus was going to say.

"My trench-axe is over there," he stated his tone saying it all. Fenria instantly saw the logic in the plan, but she still didn't like it, though it didn't take long to realize it was the only option available to them if they wanted to get out. She nodded and grabbed the weapon with her right hand and positioned it over the trapped arm.

The arm was pinned up until the shoulder, meaning that Jericus was essentially going to lose his right arm, but needs must. She could see the ruin of his right eye through the shattered lens of his mask as he looked at her and felt a pang in her heart in sympathy to his pain.

"Fen-," she didn't give him a chance to finish what he was about to say as she brought the mono-edged weapon down neatly separating his arm from his body in one blow. The silence surprised her as she dropped the axe and picked up her long-las, when she began to fire off the entire hotshot clip as fast as she could in a safe direction she heard his scream of pain above it. Quickly she pressed the overheated red-hot barrel against the open wound of Jericus' arm cauterizing it; she noted that she would need to replace the barrel later as it was practically melted from the intense heat.

His breathing had become ragged and he seemed on the verge of passing out as she helped him to his feet, grabbing his axe she stowed it in her webbing. Turning she noticed the others had come too, still slightly hazy as she was when she first woke, B-80 turned to her taking in Jericus and his battered form.

"Emperor, what happened S-1050," he questioned.

"There's no time sir, we have to get out of here now, the charges are about to go off," Fenria spit out quickly.

"Oh, balls, B-63 we need a plan to get out of here, and I don't think the lift will get us out fast enough," B-80 stated.

B-63 was luckily quick to regain his senses and the others all seemed to be fully aware again as well, turning to Sergeant Joss he voiced his plan. "Sergeant Joss those grav-chutes can carry two correct?"

The Randon Sergeant nodded with a slight grin on her face as what the Watchmaster said clicked immediately. The Randon in their group were about the same in number as the other two fire-teams, the plan would work.

"Alright troopers you heard the man grab a drop-buddy and get to the window, we're getting out of here."

"But, the cogitators…" Kerelia persisted.

"Kerelia if we could we would, but we can't, now let's get the warp out of here," B-63 stated as he paired off with a Randon trooper. Everyone without a grav-chute paired up with a Randon and proceeded to the large windows, shooting out the glass that wasn't already.

Raltia approached Fenria. "Its okay I got him," she said soothingly as Fenria gently turned her friend over to her, happy to note Raltia's familiar Surrin accent. It made her feel that Jericus was in safer hands than he would be with an otherwise unknown Randon. Fenria then paired off with Corporal Barach and they went over to the open window which several other pairs had already vacated.

Barrach hooked a clip onto her webbing as a safety. "Hold on tight blank, it's a long way down and I need my hands free," Fenria nodded and complied, throwing her arms around the Randon man in a parody of a bear hug. She watched over his shoulder as Raltia hooked Jericus on to her a bit more securely, seeing as he had been as wounded so badly he was obviously in no condition to hold on to her well enough.

Her view of Jericus fell away as Barach jumped out the window taking her with him and then all she saw was the dusky sky of Tartarius as they plummeted toward the far away ground. She prayed to the Emperor and even the Omnissiah for Jericus' survival.

Meanwhile Jericus felt his eyelid getting heavy as black began to encroach on his vision, Ralita clipped him to her own person at several points to ensure the man wouldn't fall. She knew he was a fellow Surrin, him and that woman who was helping him, and even if they were blanks she would help her own people as best she could, conscripts had to stick together.

"Alright buddy, you'll be back to your shadow soon enough," she muttered, noting that some of the Randon humor was rubbing off on her. Jericus was too tired and worn out to correct her, so he just closed his eye as he felt weightlessness take them as they fell.

**A/N: Alrighty, another chapter for you lovely folks, and we're nearing the end of the first arc, or rather part of this story. As always please read and review and I will see you all next week, I expect two reviews this time (insert stern voice here), just kidding but seriously the encouragement helps. On that note a thank-you to RandomReader for the review.**

**300-709**


	13. Blindsight

**"How long before it dawns on us that the world we see no longer reflects the world we inhabit, that we are blind?"- 'Blindsight'**

They were letting them out of the manufactory, the orks had been beaten back, and the masked guardsmen were allowing the refugees to go back to their homes. Jericus looked around him at the faces of men, women, and children as they walked, some in tears, some elated at the nightmare finally being over, but most seemed blank faced as he was.

They were being escorted through the ruins of their city by the grim masked shepherds, the guardsmen kept a distance to the crowd's sides, front, and back as the column of humanity trudged through the war-torn streets. People were allowed to split off from the column where their homes were located, if their homes were still standing, the rest were allowed to do as they pleased only told to report to designated shelters at the proper time should they have nowhere to go for the night.

Jericus soon found himself going down familiar yet completely alien streets as he made his way home. Alone save for two quiet masked shadows he made his way over rubble covered streets and through alleyways when road he had known his whole like could not be taken. The guardsmen behind him made no comment and he had no particular idea as to why they were following him a lone civilian through the wreckage, but he didn't question it, he was on a mission to get back home.

Broken and crumbled buildings loomed in the distance like the ruins of a lost civilization, and Jericus reflected that in a way they were. Finally cresting a particularly big hill of a road, one he had walked up everyday after his manufactorum shifts Jericus finally got a view of his hab. Blown to pieces only support struts and a crumbled wall or two remained of what was once his home, last he had seen it was at a time very much like this. Except he was running desperately toward it as the war raged all around him before the guardsmen forced him into the escort column, at that time when he had crested the hill Jericus had watched as it was blown up in the hail of artillery fire, his family still inside.

He had known they were inside because they had always gotten home before him, his father and mother owned a small shop down the road from the hab so they would have gotten there the moment the public announcement had said to get back to places of habitation. That announcement had been made before the orks had overrun the defensive lines set up by the guard, and by the time the new one had been made it would have been too late for them to get out.

His little brother and sister had to have been there too, education centers had been shut down and they had been sent home even earlier in the day. It hadn't been a fiery explosion as he imagined it would be, no it seemed as though the building had just crumbled in on itself as barely seen streaks ploughed into it.

Jericus had watched that from a distance, now he wanted to get closer, he walked down the hill toward the wreckage. Finally getting there his footsteps _crumped _through the rubble and debris, he glimpsed the occasional body lying half-buried and covered in dust giving their skin an ashy look. He looked away from each and every one of them out of fear that he'd recognize one, though he had come for the closure he didn't want to find it that way.

Coming to the roughly where he knew his families apartment was he stopped, there was nothing but the debris from the building, any family heirlooms completely buried beneath tons of rockcrete and metal. Jericus breathed in the brisk Surris air and looked around in all directions from where his home had been. He tried to picture his past as he looked around, but all he could see was the rubble of it, and the two skull-masked guardsmen a short distance off looking vaguely in his direction.

Finally his sight found the horizon of his broken city, the sun was starting downward in the sky, its rays cascading through the broken bones of buildings, reflecting off of the ever present ice of Surris, it was a moment of beauty in the devastation. Taking a deep shivering breath Jericus paid his respects to the rubble.

* * *

It was the feeling of the air against his naked face that woke him up, not the noise of guardsmen working just outside the medical tent, or the sounds of far-off weapons-fire, no it was the fact that his mask was gone. He mulled over how wrong it felt to be free of the stifling comfort of the korps-issue breathing apparatus. Looking down at himself he could see that his wounds were dressed and that he was naked from the waist up, the thin sheets having been kicked off in his sleep apparently. Placing his right hand to his right eye he felt for what was left of the organ, only it was then that he remembered he didn't have a right hand anymore either.

So it came as quite a shock when he finally noticed the simple augmetic replacement that was now clinking against the equally bulky augmetic optic he now sported in place of his original eye. Sitting up abruptly he put the arm down placing it into his view to study it, strange thing was he could feel the limb, he didn't know if this was phantom feeling or artificial but he didn't really care at the moment.

Using his left arm he began to probe at the limb, it was simple, ball joints, and solid construction it replaced his entire arm including his shoulder now also a ball joint connected to the rest of his body permanently. The point at which augmetic and organic met seemed a fused mass, somewhat ugly to look at, the skin still red and puckered at the point of connection. Jericus let out a deep breath, the limb reminded him of Magos Chevel's own.

"Oh, it's good to see you're finally awake," Jericus looked up to see the cog-girl in question walk into the tent which he now realized he was the sole occupant of.

"Hope you like the arm and the optic, they're a few of my spares," she said hoping to break his silence. It took him a moment of breathing to finally find his voice, a few hundred thoughts running through his mind at once. Mainly how he rated to get augmetic replacements, and also how he was alive and from what he could feel in pretty good shape.

"Um, what happened after this trooper was incapacitated," was his first question.

The cog-girl smiled at him thoughtfully. "You blanks, always so concerned about the mission, well if you must know we all jumped out the window. Our Randon friends managed to land us on one of the upper levels of the hive where we were able to vox command about the situation. At the moment your fire-team is on standby waiting for your recovery, and being debriefed, same as everyone who went on the mission."

Jericus looked down at his new arm, opening and closing his fist. "How…"

"I owed 63 a favor, and had more than enough spares. They're a little bulky, but sturdy, just what a strapping Korpsman like you needs for his line of work." Seeming to have read his mind she responded. "Anyway, how do they feel? It can be a bit jarring at first, your new arm should be able to feel pressure, but not temperature or much other sensation other than any phantom feeling that is."

Jericus thoughtfully rotated and stretched the new limb, getting the hang of it and its ability to rotate 360 degrees at the joints. Trying his new eye though he found the augmetic seemed to be unresponsive. "The arm is fine, but I don't think I know how to work the eye."

"Oh, it can be a bit tricky to get used to at first, my bad for not explaining," she stifled a snort of laughter. "Your new optic has a few different vision modes, low-light, regular, heat, various magnifications and a few other features I'll let you find out about on your own. It's connected to your fleshy brain, so the mental commands may be a bit slower than what I'm able to do. You have to actively think about the command to activate the modes, start slowly, think about how you would normally see and it'll happen. With enough practice it'll become second nature and you'll hardly have to think to make the adjustments at all,"

Pausing for another moment Jericus thought about how it felt to open his eye, how he viewed the world. A barely heard soft whirring sound emanated from his augmetic optic as the lens opened, and suddenly he could see again, his mind connecting the stimuli gathered from the optic and his natural eye, and his vision was as it had been, as if he hadn't lost his eye at all. Though once he thought about that fact a sudden pain flared up where his right eye had been forcing him to grimace and the augmetic to shut involuntarily. He put his hand up to where the pain was, clutching the right side of his face, though only the clanking of the composite parts of the augmetics was heard and the pain continued on for another moment before fading abruptly as it had come on.

An intake of breath to his right drew his attention back to the cog-girl. "That may happen from time to time, baseline bodies have a bit of a hard time adjusting, especially if the body part was lost due to a traumatic event. You may have phantom pains from time to time, but that should lessen the more you get used to the augmetics," she said soothingly.

Another few breaths and Jericus found he was able to open the augmetic again, to see without the pain creeping up on him like before.

"This trooper is ready to be debriefed when its superiors are ready," he said after a moment of thought.

"Yes, I should probably let 63 know that you're awake, you know there's been a lot of talk about you over the past two days you've been out. No one else can remember what happened after breeching the control room prior to our rapid exit, but you were awake and it looked like you'd been through one heck of a fight," the cog-girl said, curiosity lacing her tone. "Anyway, I'll go let him know and he should be in here soon."

She turned quickly leaving Jericus alone with his thoughts for however long it would take Watchmaster B-63 to get to him. Glancing around he noticed that the tent he occupied was fairly small, just the cot he occupied, a medical tray on a stand to his right along with his war-gear stowed away neatly, his mask gone the hole punched through it when he lost his eye probably ruining its integrity. Its absence concerned him greatly and he sincerely hoped that he would get a replacement; he wasn't sure how much longer he could be without the surrogate face.

The rustling of the canvas material of the tent brought his attention to his approaching Watchmaster, the 82nd veteran looked no worse for wear, his uniformed appearance gave nothing away as he walked up to his wounded subordinate.

"Kerelia informs me that your augmetics have integrated successfully," Jericus used his right arm to snap off a sincere salute, both out of training and to answer B-63. The veteran chuckled in response, saluting him back and putting him back at ease. "Well it's good to see that you're well… maybe well enough to explain what exactly happened up there. It has a lot of the higher-ups understandably concerned trooper S-1049, and to be honest I have to agree with them. Out of everyone on that mission you were the only one to have purportedly stayed conscious long enough to sustain injury from what we now are certain was a rough psyker. Do you have anything to say in your defense?"

"Sir, this trooper did engage the enemy, it remembers the rest of its comrades falling unconscious, and it then proceeded to fire upon the hostile. The target had some sort of personal shield and then disarmed this trooper taking away its primary weapon, this trooper engaged the enemy in melee combat afterward. It was incapacitated by the enemy, who then escaped via air-car, sir this trooper believes that you know the rest," Jericus breathed out heavily. He knew what B-63 was implying, anyone resistant to the powers of a psyker was often suspect of being witches themselves.

"Aye, I know the rest trooper," B-63 leaned in closely. "To be honest with you I'm grateful that you essentially saved us, even though you were defeated you managed to force the enemy to retreat and probably saved us all from being killed in our sleep."

Jericus stayed silent, studying the Watchmaster's battle scarred skull-mask, and it seemed to be set in a rictus grin, making the man seem slightly off-kilter.

"But, as I said before everyone is worried about this, and it seems that we all have good reason to be. Very few individuals can resist that kind of witchcraft, well very few who aren't tainted by the warp themselves anyway. They want the regiment's sanctioned psyker to examine you for signs of taint trooper; if you have anything you'd like to tell me now would be the time. I can't help you once the examination is done," B-63 stated calmly.

Jericus paused for a moment. "I remember the witch saying that I was a blank… not in reference to the other regiments nickname for us sir, he said it meant I was a null. I have no idea what he was talking about sir, but I would never turn my back on the Emperor, or my comrades," the last was stated with conviction, misgivings he may have had with the regiment at first had faded.

Looking thoughtful the Watchmaster turned, his hands behind his back. "I think that's the first time I've heard you refer to yourself in the first person trooper. As for what you said… I believe you, but we have to abide by protocol in this case. You can come in now," he beckoned.

Through the tent flap a man in robes walked, he was tall and proud looking, with a shaved head, bandages were wrapped around his eyes, and in his right hand he carried a simple stave with a worn gun-metal-grey Imperial Aquila atop it.

"Alright Watchmaster where is this trooper of yours," he stopped abruptly. "Oh, this isn't good, something is very wrong here."

Jericus had the distinct feeling that his situation was not going well at that comment and the way that the man seemed to stumble once he got the first part of his statement out. Watchmaster B-63 looked worried as well and despite his earlier statement of believing him Jericus could see him subtly reaching for his laspistol.

"Is he tainted," B-63's tone was slightly strained and Jericus thought he looked ready to put a lasbolt in his head at any moment such was a korpsmans duty.

"N-no, but this is something that warrants attention, it's very disturbing, I can't see him, as a matter of fact since coming into this tent I can't see anything. My connection is being blocked, I've only heard of this in whispers, Watchmaster your trooper is a psychic null. Not particularly powerful granted, but a null nonetheless." The psyker continued haltingly as though he was having trouble.

"What does that mean for him," B-63 asked relaxing and letting his hand fall from the pistol grip.

"I'm afraid I don't know Watchmaster, he isn't a danger to anyone except possibly those touched by the warp like myself. Now with your permission may I please go, being in his presence is… uncomfortable for me," the psyker seemed eager to be out of the tent.

"Yes you may, I'll send the report along shortly," the psyker nodded before feeling his way back out through the tent entrance. Watchmaster B-63 turned back to his subordinate.

"What does this mean sir?"

"Well S-1049, as far as I'm concerned, you're not tainted and therefore you're fit for duty," B-63 said clearly.

"But, what about this trooper's condition," Jericus questioned a hint of trepidation in his voice.

"Not any concern of mine trooper, after the missions events I consider it an asset. As for command, I don't think they'll really care; they have more pressing matters than the condition of one korpsman to worry about. My report will simply conclude that you are free of taint and fit to fight, I'm sure their curiosity will be sated and you'll continue on as you were," the Watchmaster was obviously on his side, though Jericus had no idea why.

"Why are you helping this trooper sir," his curiosity had gotten the better of him.

Watchmaster B-63 sighed exasperatedly. "I wouldn't question it too much if I were you S-1049, suffice it to say that I happen to like you and feel a bit indebted to you since you did save us all, so consider us even."

"Yes Watchmaster," Jericus replied in deference.

"So, with all of that out of the way I expect you to be back with us for a patrol tomorrow, there's no rest for the weary as I'm sure you know. Though we did miss the main show, it appears that the offensive was a success, as we speak the rebels and traitor elements of the PDF have been crushed in the main spire. Now all that's left is to mop up the leftovers, the rebellions back has been broken and they're really running now."

Turning to leave he stopped. "Oh, I almost forgot, you're going to be needing this," he threw a new gasmask into Jericus' lap, skull motif already attached. Jericus looked up and gave his Watchmaster a nod, received one in return and then B-63 was gone, tent flaps swishing shut in his wake.

Looking down at his new mask Jericus noticed that the skull motif was not in fact new, it was his, he could tell by the slash running vertically through the right eye of it. Where the sword had punched through, stroking the mark thoughtfully he again reached up to his new augmetic idly tapping it with his new arm a soft _clink, clink_ resounding through the space. He let out a tired sigh, this was only his first campaign, and he had already gotten major scars.

Hearing the tent swish open again he looked up expecting to see the Watchmaster again, but the figure that greeted him was definitely not B-63, too short and even through the heavy Death Korps uniform recognizably feminine. He knew who it was instantly, and if he was honest he was surprised, and yet not surprised at the same time that she had come to visit him.

"The Watchmaster said that it was okay to come in and visit you, he also said that I should bring you along to where the rest of the squad is billeted," her voice was monotone to the untrained ear, but he could tell that she was worried, maybe a little shocked.

"That bad huh," he said having picked up on her concerned tone and barely detectable glances in the direction of his new body parts. She seemed taken aback for a moment, though quickly recovered coming closer to him and kneeling so that her masked face was level with his bare one. She traced his new eye, the lens that served as its lid opening and closing of its own accord and Jericus tried to focus his augmetic. Then she moved onto the rest of his face idly tracing it for another brief moment before taking her hand away.

"Not exactly as I remember it, but close enough," he noticed that she wasn't speaking in the third person. "I was worried that you'd die S-1049, you weren't in good condition when we arrived at the field-base. I'm not sure how I would have taken it, and I don't want to find out." She had sat down on the side of the cot facing him.

He reached out and gently as he could grabbed her hand in his own, it was only after he had done it that he realized it was his augmetic one that was holding hers and probably a bit tighter than was comfortable, but she didn't make a comment, she only tightened her own grip.

"I'll always remember S-1050, nothing in this galaxy will make me fail to keep that promise, I'm not going to die on you," he said trying to comfort her, he could tell that she was more upset than she let on.

She simply nodded and then stood up and walked around the bed to where his war-gear was stashed. "I'll help you get into your uniform, and with your injuries it'll be easier this way."

"Okay, I was a righty, I think I'll have to get used to my new arm," he acquiesced as she brought his under shirt over his head. Next came the layer of chemical resistant clothing, his trench-coat, carapace armour, and then his webbing. The final pieces were his mask and helmet, the mask he insisted he put on himself, finding that his new hand was a bit clumsy but suitable for the task and that the mask fit surprisingly well over his augmetic eye easily allowing him a good view through the lens. Last but not least Fenria placed his helmet atop his head clasping it in place and then pausing for a moment to trace the scar left down the skull motifs right eye.

He caught her hand with his flesh and blood one gently and brought it down to rest at her side, not in anger; he couldn't explain why, maybe shame.

He took a breath. "How do I look?"

She chuckled. "Like a blank," the nickname was not said with any malice and in fact despite recent events Jericus found that coming from Fenria he didn't mind it all that much.

"Good, now lead the way, you said I was to go with you to where the squad was right," he said.

"Right this way S-1049," the duo walked through the exit of the tent Fenria leading the way as they began to traverse the field-base. Various troopers were roaming around some getting back from operations, some heading out, and some on base for R&R. It was a veritable tent city set up in an open plaza and guarded around the perimeter by various emplaced heavy weapons.

Soon enough their squad came into view, the mix of 121st, 145th, and 82nd troopers making the scene diverse and a little odd with the mismatch of red, on green, on dark grey.

B-80 was playing cards with Xavier, his buddies, and some Randon trooper Jericus vaguely recalled meeting, her eyes suggested she was from Surris. He decided to go over to them, maybe join in on the game they had going, he was a little off as he walked, the weight of his arm new to him along with slight pain from his stitched up slash wounds. As he neared the group Xavier stood up from the small crate they had been using as a table and walked straight up to him.

Without warning the man threw his arms around him in a tight hug, surprising Jericus greatly, he certainly hadn't expected that, had his condition been worse than Fenria had let on? The thought was put off quickly though once he felt the slight discomfort of his wounds acting up.

"It's good to see you're up and about man, mind if I steal him from you for a moment," he said turning to Fenria, she shook her head in response and Xavier gave her a warm smile. "Hey guys check it out it's the blank of the hour, kept on fighting when our sorry butts got knocked out," he stated to the group jovially.

There was a slightly mocking applause in good humor as the group of guardsmen clapped with gusto. "What say the hero joins us for a game?" B-80 said from his seat, "could use someone else that has a good pokerface, you're all too easy."

"Only because you're wearing a mask you blank bastard," Eli stated in jest.

"That's Corporal blank bastard to you trooper," B-80 shot back. "Anyway, S-1049, S-1050 get in on this, the three of us stand to make a killing."

"Sure, sounds like a good time," Jericus replied steadily, Xavier then lead him and Fenria to the group pulling up two smaller crates for them to have a seat. The game began again Hack dealing out a new hand to all the players and everyone began the process of betting and bluffing. Rations were the currency of choice, the small nutrient and protein packed bars none to tasty, but for the game they would do.

"So, can we see it?" the question was posed by Eli, and from the looks the rest of his squad mates were giving it was clear that they were curious too.

Jericus sighed for a moment, he knew what he was asking to see, and after all they had been staring at his right arm since he had sat down. Placing his cards face down he rolled up his sleeve so that all could see the augmetic arm in all its glory.

"Thought it'd be fancier," Hack commented. "For field medicae training they let us see some examples incase we ever had to work around one. From what I remember that's an older augmetic."

"I think it's awesome, looks just like the one Magos Chevel has," Eli said with enthusiasm.

"It was actually one of her spares," Jericus responded.

"Whoa really, Can I touch it?"

Jericus looked up with confusion and feeling a little disturbed if he was honest with himself, at Eli's request and his look Cain felt the need to interject to clear things up.

"Eli has somewhat of an obsessive crush on the cog-girl," he scratched his stubble. "It's a little weird, I wouldn't let him near the arm if I were you," he added as an afterthought.

Looking back at the now slightly embarrassed but still hopeful Eli Jericus gave him an answer drawing his new limb away slowly. "In light of that I'll have to say no to the request," the man frowned but didn't press the issue and everyone seemed to erupt into laughter at his expense.

"Leave the lad be," B-80 interjected between chuckles. "Better men than him have fallen for Magos Chevel before, and much harder I may add."

Now that had caught some attention, Jericus had noticed that the Watchmaster and Magos Chevel seemed to have some history between them, especially with the way the Watchmaster constantly seemed to be concerned with her plans and her person in general, and if he remembered right B-80 had even told him as much, though the details of the mission were a little hazy now.

The question would certainly nag at him, and he could tell that Fenria felt the same, but neither voiced any further curiosity about it, B-63 though good-natured probably wouldn't like them snooping about such a subject too much.

Time passed quickly as the card game progressed, Jericus' wasn't really paying too much attention to it though, which showed by the fact that by far he was not fairing so well and losing quite often. His mind preoccupied by other recent events and more specifically how his gut feared for his future.

He folded during his ninth round and excused himself to go and relax, everyone bid him goodbye, Fenria followed him. The pair found a spot overlooking the sprawl of city 32 from what seemed the edge of the plaza, the height being great even though they were only on the middle level of the hive city. Jericus sat on a bench that in better times would have been used by those who wanted to enjoy the view offered in-front of them, he had to admit that even through the grit and damage caused by the war city 32's sheer size was somewhat breathtaking.

Fenria sat next to him, about and arms length away taking in the view herself, simply just there as she always was. Ambient sounds echoed through the city, mostly those of war, though even these were almost drowned out by what was probably the daily din of a hive, some sort of humming and the indistinct sound of people, voices, footsteps, and other such mundane echoes of a living city.

"It's quite a view isn't it," Jericus opened up.

"Yes it is," Fenria reached for something in her webbing. "I meant to give this to you earlier, but I didn't know if you'd wanted after… well you remember," she produced his trench-axe.

Jericus looked at the weapon that was used to take his arm, the weapon that saved his life, he reached out with his augmetic arm taking the axe by its handle and holding it out. Studying it for the moment it was obvious that Fenria had cleaned it up, slowly he put it in its place on his belt, decision made.

The sight from their position flared into brilliance as the glass windows on distant spires glittered with the light of both explosions and the dust choked rays of the Tartarian sun. Moments of beauty flared up even as the city was wounded and continuing to tear at itself in the final death rattle of the campaign, and even with all the horrors he was sure he would have to face Jericus felt as though he was supposed to be here, even though he didn't want to be.

**A/N: Whelp there's another chapter for you, things for Jericus and co.'s first campaign have wound down and soon it'll be time to move on. Kindly review, don't be shy now get me over fourteen and I'll be happy, I think that's a reasonable request, new reviewers welcome! I do so enjoy those who leave multiple reviews as well, but new names will be welcome. Don't stop at thirteen though, that'd be bad luck. See you next week.**

**300-709**


	14. Fading

**Disclaimer- I do not own Warhammer 40,000 or any of the works therein.**

"**There are moments when you feel that the desire to work is fading, and the only way to bring it back is to get away from it, to put yourself in a state of frustration so you feel the need again."- Emmanuelle Beart**

Mop up duty as the veterans called it was by far the hardest part of the campaign Xavier thought, simply because at least during the main offensives and even the near catastrophic betrayal of most of the PDF the battles left little in the way of question as to whom he had to shoot at. The enemy attacks, or you do, both situations are resolved with heavy amounts of fire at the enemy, maybe having to bash some mutants head in.

Now though… it had been weeks since the offensive on the main spire, weeks since the rebel forces back was broken, the traitor governor had concentrated most of his forces in the spire. The rest had been cut off when the bridges in the southern sector had been demolished, and now the Imperial Guard was hunting down the scattered remnants of the rebellion in the vast cityscape. Sergeant Grimes had told them that they probably wouldn't be planet-side for too much longer maybe a standard month or two, so apparently progress was going well.

Still didn't help that the leftovers as they had begun calling the rebel forces still alive were now keen on waging a guerilla war on them, hit and run tactics had become the norm and though casualties were at an all time low Xavier still didn't like that the attacks came out of nowhere. Right now he was on a patrol in the southern sector of the city, joint regiment squad as had become the norm in the weeks following the main offensive. Watchmaster B-63 said that the higher-ups, specifically the 125th's own General Flend liked to promote extensive cooperation between the regiments and thus mixed them up regularly.

Xavier didn't mind so much, he got to see his old friend Jericus, and it seemed that their fire-teams were going to be joined for the foreseeable future, plus the Randon weren't so bad, he had learned that trooper Lupa had been a Surris conscript too and she had become fast friends with everyone on his fire-team. They all knew why too, Jericus had S-1050 who was from Surris, Xavier had Cain, Eli, and Hack, but Lupa was surrounded by unfamiliar people from an entirely different planet with an unfamiliar culture.

Currently he was paired off with Lupa, Cain, and a Corporal Barach, they were split up into teams of four mostly, keeping within vox contact, patrolling some part of the southern sector on a standard search and destroy sweep. Reinforcements were not far away as several hundred Imperial Guardsmen swept through the sector dispatching any attacking rebels, or anyone suspected of being one. Xavier hated that part the most, Sergeant Grimes and the other C.O's were pretty restrained and never seemed to 'purge' anyone unless they were certain beyond a doubt at least that was a small mercy.

Xavier was just glad that so far he hadn't been ordered to execute anyone, and neither had any 125th trooper or Randon for that matter, as expected the Death Korps, Jericus and Fenria included carried out the grim task. Sergeant Joss had responded that it wasn't honorable to kill unless in combat and had refused to allow her troopers to take part and Sergeant Grimes simply didn't make a comment. Thus Watchmaster B-63 took it upon himself and his troopers to get the job done, no complaints, he knew how difficult it could be to do the sort of thing that was required, and B-52 true to his word had prepared every trooper he had trained well, so that they could perform their duty.

Xavier hadn't tried to stop Jericus as he had back at the manufactorum, for one his friend was under standing orders from a superior, and two it wasn't just him, Cain, Fenria, and Jericus around to witness the clear insubordination, so he kept his mouth shut. Just as Sergeant Grimes had advised all of them to do before the patrol was carried out.

Going down the block they were on Xavier kept vigilant, which was hard because everywhere you looked movement could be seen briefly, refugees, Tartarian citizens caught up in the war, unable to be evacuated because of the rebellion in their midst, telling innocent civilian from foe had become difficult. There had been several traps they had encountered thus far, luckily the veterans had experience and steered them away or dealt with it before it caused a fatality.

The first had been a boy, barely into his teens, malnourished and dressed in worn clothing, Cain had been about to go up to him when Sergeant Grimes pulled him back. Cain had been about to say something in protest when on of the Death Korps troopers put a lasbolt into the boy's chest, F-920 if Xavier remembered right. Any protest about the action was cut off as the boy's limp body exploded; splaying the remaining bits in a rough semi-circle of blood and viscera, the explosive would have taken at least five of them out had they gotten close.

Sergeant Joss had commented that it must have been a deadmans trigger, rebels had done similar on many worlds she had fought them on, or so she had said. In the present though Xavier only saw the frightened erratic movements of civilians hiding, not the excited but reserved stalking of rebel left over's. Thus walking down the block was becoming uneventful, boring, and yet still as tense as any engagement he had been in so far, they tried to prepare them for the stop, go of war during training, but as Sergeant Grimes had put it, it wasn't something that could ever be prepared for fully, either your nerves got you, or the enemy did.

Auto-cars and other manual vehicles sat in gridlock on the block as if frozen in time, they weaved through the silent machines grateful for the cover they gave and also worried at what they could be obscuring.

"So, uh… how was your home world Sir?" Cain said to break the monotony, talking was a bit frowned upon but not entirely a no-no, plus since it helped break up tension it was usually allowed on patrols.

Barach scratched his chin, "Be honest I prefer life in the Guard, Randon was home, and there's no other place like it, but at least now I don't have to be a complete slave."

"I meant more along the lines of how it looked and such, you know how Surris is a barren freezing rock, but now I'm curious what do you mean by complete slave, I mean we're not exactly given the greatest amount of freedom in the Guard." Cain alluded to the fact that they were in essence slaves anyway, desertion wasn't looked kindly upon, and punishments could be incredibly severe.

"Trust me kid this life is better than a life on Randon, let me ask you how many officers or even non-coms have you seen in the 145th so far that have been men?" Seeing Cain's look he continued before he could comment. "Exactly, not many, and the reason for that is that on Randon men are considered second class citizens to the women. We can't own land, we're essentially property, for years I was Sergeant Joss' property, when she decided to join the Guard I by law had to accompany her. Other than that Randon was fairly good as a planet goes, it had a lot of sheer cliffs, and the cities are built high up on them which is why it primarily produces drop troopers."

"Dang and I though my mother being overbearing was bad enough," Xavier elbowed Cain in his ribs to get him to shut up before he said something else that might offend the Corporal.

Barach shrugged, "I would suppose so, then again, and I mean no offense, but your home world was one of the most unpleasant rocks I've been on, the gravity made the drops and general combat a nightmare."

"So, is there any animosity between you and the Sergeant then?" Cain feeling bold and intrigued inquired further.

"No, she chose me out of several candidates and was quite kind to me, treated me like an equal even before we joined the Guard and I was officially not her property anymore, that being said knowing that I am not personally at the mercy of my worlds laws is a welcome relief. There if I had offhandedly offended another woman I may very well have had a severe penalty imposed on me, not that it was frequent, or even common, but the fact that they had that much control over me and now they don't, it is very freeing. Now as long as I abide by Guard standard and law I am considered equal,"

"So, why do you stick around with the Sergeant then, I know you said that she was kind, but if Randon laws don't apply and you disliked it so much why stay around someone who had that kind of power over you," Xavier spoke up entering the conversation.

Barach stayed quiet for a moment, "I stay with her because she joined the Guard for my sake, knew I didn't like our laws… she wanted me to love her because I wanted to, not because I had to by law."

That shocked everyone, they hadn't been expecting that kind of answer, Cain and Xavier were silently contemplating the information they had just heard.

"Did it work," Raltia asked what was on the other's minds, despite have been train by and fighting with Randon troopers Raltia had never heard any talk about their homeworld, or its culture before now. Maybe that was why they all seemed so gung-ho, the men had this pent up frustration and the women were just always like this?

"I'm still with her aren't I," Barach shrugged a smile on his face. "Besides I always did care for her, or at least I grew to, still the fact that she actually cared for me enough to give me this gift didn't hurt in any way whatsoever."

"Anyway, enough about my personal life pay attention to your surroundings troopers," Barach broke the silence and distracted expressions on the rest of the group's faces. Xavier the Corporal now unwilling to talk went back to really paying attention to the surrounding structures, on a normal day the area they were in would be bustling with people going to and from their jobs, and the now still traffic would be moving at fast speeds. Which is why the current emptiness of the city was so disturbing, until it was broken by the sound of weapons fire.

"Bravo team, under fire requesting immediate assistance, about twelve left-over's attacking from second floor of the office building to our right, over" Sergeant Joss' voice came over the vox before anyone else could question what the situation was over vox, Barach instantly sprung into action.

"Bravo, this is Charlie we're on our way, keep 'em distracted for us, we'll catch 'em with their pants down, over," despite the fact that Xavier thought he must have been worried Barach sounded calm and even a bit excited for the upcoming fight.

"Copy Bravo, we'll be waiting, out," Joss' cheerful sounding tone came back.

"In the mean time, Echo team will provide frontal support and help with the distraction," Sergeant Grimes' voice added over the link.

"Appreciated Grimes," Joss shot back the sound of weapons fire becoming more pronounced over the line before it cut off.

Barach began to veer off toward a side ally leading to the block over where Bravo team was currently being attacked, they would emerge on the right side of the street and luckily be out of the rebels line of fire and free to flank and dispose of them. Xavier followed, Raltia and Cain hot on his heels… Barach was moving fast, down the litter cluttered alley they went carefully emerging on the other side and turning toward the direction the weapons fire was coming from.

Soon enough they were in view of the firefight, making their way toward the side of the building enemy fire was spewing from they sidled up and found an emergency side entrance. Stacking up Barach hardly waited for the rest of them as he put two lasbolts into the lock, proceeded to practically rip the door off its hinges, and go inside. Xavier noted how the Randon vet was being particularly reckless, but then again so far from his experience all Randon seemed to be fairly reckless.

Filtering in after him the group came to the stairwell and began to make their way up to the second floor where the enemy was situated. They found the room the rebels were firing from quickly enough the door to it was open, probably to facilitate easy escape. Barach peered around the frame and counted the rebels in the room, ten all told, two dead on the floor from the intense fire coming from Joss and now Grimes' teams. They were a hodge-podge of insurgents, in the rebellions makeshift worker uniform and the fatigues of traitor PDF troopers.

Pulling back around the frame Barach activated his vox-bead, "Charlie team in position Bravo, and Echo, when you hear the explosion stop firing, we'll take it from there, copy if you heard."

"Copied Charlie, give 'em hell for me Corporal," Joss' voice answered.

"Yes Ma'am," Barach muttered back.

Pulling a standard krak grenade from his webbing, he looked to Raltia as she did the same, nodding he tossed his in after pulling the pin, Raltia's right behind his, taking cover behind the walls to either side the four man team waited. Seconds later a shout was heard as one of the rebels notice the deadly explosives that had just landed behind them, what followed was the signature _kraking_ explosion that gave the grenades their name.

Fire from the outside teams stopped as Bravo team stormed the now trashed room, Xavier put two lasbolts into a PDF trooper that was just starting to aim at the them, and then another into a rebel bent over next to him as he tried to get up. Raltia claimed her own two kills, bursts from her carbine taking the head off one in a spray of crimson and cutting the legs out from under another close by. Meanwhile Cain put three lasbolts into another rebel, the woman's hands going to her stomach as the deadly light impacted.

The grenades had killed, or otherwise incapacitated the rest, after it was over Xavier, Cain, and Raltia held position securing the room. Barach proceeded to systematically put a lasbolt through each down rebels head to ensure that they wouldn't be surviving, Xavier watched on as the veteran blew the brains out of his helpless victims, some having already been eviscerated by shrapnel and mortally wounded already, the Corporal even put a lasbolt through the ones Xavier was positive were already dead.

All the while Barach's expression of anger and contempt was hidden behind the mirror-like blast-plate of his helmet, giving the scene a disturbing turn as the faceless man fueled by rage gave no quarter. Putting a shot through a final pleading mans head he turned to the group and spoke. "That's what I do to things that would harm her," his voice held a cold anger to it that sent chills up their spines.

"This is Charlie team, left-over's pasted, no casualties, clean sweep, on our way out," Barach said into the vox as he walked past them and out the door. The three looked at each other and followed, the responses over the vox falling on deaf ears as they followed a person Xavier considered more frightening than majority of the blanks.

They left the charnel house of corpses in their wake as they emerged out onto the street to seeing both Bravo and Echo teams righting themselves. Xavier noted that Sergeant Joss was kneeling next to one of her troopers, a Randon whose name he did not know, she was holding the man's hand as he finally echoed a death rattle and his body went limp. Placing his hand over the bloody hand print on the man's armour Joss proceeded to take the man's tags.

"We should have gotten here sooner Ma'am, I'm sorry," Barach said as he reached Joss.

"None of that Corporal Ginnerach wouldn't have wanted us to mope over him, he'd want us to kill some enemies of the Emperor," the Sergeant said standing up and putting the dead man's tags into a pouch at her hip where they jangled among others of their kind.

"Then let's get started Ma'am," They took the fallen man's equipment and left the body, the mission took priority, they would be back for their comrade later. The teams headed out back to their patrol routes and continued the sweep of the sector.

Xavier sighed, resigned to the long patrol ahead of them, he wondered how Jericus was doing in the current moment, he knew that the Korps had made him an incredibly effective guardsman, but his friend had just recently lost his arm and eye, so chances were he was still adjusting a bit to the new way his augmetics operated. Moving back down another alley Charlie team made their way back to their street, the street still lay just as deserted as it had been when they left it in a hurry, it seemed that the intense action Xavier had seen before hadn't even happened.

Meanwhile Jericus was having a rather dull time with the sweep as well; Fenria his constant companion kept giving him sidelong glances, checking up on him to see how his augmetics were integrating. The other members of Gamma team were two Randon troopers Sunra Foss, and Anrai Muroch who mostly kept together as Jericus and Fenria did, it felt better to work with those who you were familiar with, so the team was in reality comprised of two pairs.

He found that his new arm seemed to twitch a lot, something that Magos Chevel had told him would go away as time went on, one of the nerves trying to establish a connection and failing, or so she had said. At least he had noticed it getting better, the fidgety appendage was becoming still for longer periods of time, the Magos had said that the nerves just needed to re-route themselves and his brain would fill in the connection between control and movement better.

On the bright side his augmetic eye was working perfectly, and was being put to use as team Gamma's means of sweeping the area, Jericus had found out how to cycle to some sort of thermal imaging mode, which allowed him to see the ghostly bright silhouettes of people moving through the surrounding walls of the buildings. Depending on their movements it was easy for him to see if they were refugees or the enemy, plus he figured he would probably pick up the shape of a weapon too if the person was carrying one.

Scuffing his boots against the rockcrete Jericus in a way longed for the quickness of combat, the slow times where he could think about things irritated him. He didn't want to think about what he had done so far, what he would have to do, what he had lost, what he could lose… more than it bothered Xavier the current lull of the war bothered Jericus even more, thinking on these things seemed to make the phantom pains worse and he was trying his best to focus on his job, and maybe hope that a rebel might turn up soon.

Scanning the buildings on the street he glimpsed small forms scurrying about through the interiors, always hiding from the windows. Children, they had to be, the silhouettes too slight and short to be anything but. Strange thing, he hadn't spotted many adults around them, and the figures seemed to be groups, sometimes peering out at them conspicuously, sometimes gathered around the bright shapeless glow of what Jericus figured had to be fires. But they never showed themselves to the troopers sweeping through the streets they called home, refugees left behind during the evacuations.

Jericus had no part in conducting those, but he guessed it must have been eerily similar to how he was herded like cattle back on his own homeworld when the orks had come. Probably better off they stay hidden anyway, they'd just get in the way… and besides everything would be over soon enough and the citizens of City 32 could get back to the natural way of things.

Looking ahead he took in the sight of a rather large hab-tower, the inside of which was lit up like an Emperor's day festival on a main street. The shapes were all moving, though he could tell that by the way they moved these were no refugees, not to mention the shapes of weapons showed up against bright body heat as cooler forms.

"The hab ahead is filled with hostiles, we're gonna need the whole squad for it," he indicated the tower subtly. Anrai voxed the news over the net and soon it was decided that everyone would form up on the side of the hab and then they would sweep and clear the building en-masse. The rebels hadn't seemed to notice them, or were probably hoping that they would pass by, so they all made it to the building easily enough.

"I say we split into the teams we've established and go in from multiple entrances, sweep room to room up until the left over's are neutralized," Sergeant Grimes offered.

"Sounds like a solid plan to me, simple," Watchmaster B-63 agreed.

"Warp I'm all for it, let's get this show on the road," Sergeant Joss concluded.

Teams sticking together the squad split up and entered the hab from several different areas; Gamma team went in from the rear entrance. Jericus guiding them with his eye up a rear access stairway to a corridor that he knew would be occupied by quite a few rebels. They stalked along the hall until Jericus indicated a door, looking through he could see the forms of rebels lying down, most likely asleep.

Using signs he indicated that there were seven in total, and that they all looked to be asleep to the others. Anrai being the most senior among them nodded and ordered a quiet entry if possible, they hadn't heard weapons fire from the other teams as of yet and didn't want to alert the enemy any sooner than was necessary. He also ordered silent neutralization, Jericus pulled his trench-axe free while everyone drew their respective combat knives or other CQC weapons and readied themselves for the work ahead.

Anrai let Jericus take point, he found that the door was unlocked and opened it slowly, it made surprisingly little noise, and they all thanked whoever must have oiled the hinges. Creeping into the room the team spread out each taking lone isolated rebels if possible, Jericus stepped up to his first target, the sleeping man was actually older than him. A relief given that he seemed to be killing quite a few youths while fighting the rebel forces and that had disconcerted him quite a bit.

He got into position kneeling down and readied his axe, choking up on the shaft he got his hand right under the head, he placed the mono-edged metal right above the sleeping man's neck and then placed his hand right over his mouth before pushing downward with a good amount of force. Eye's open the man didn't have time to struggle as the mono-edged axe head cleaved straight through his neck and severed his spinal cord, the body lay silently twitching as the connection was cut.

Jericus moved on to his next target, the others having dealt with their own as quietly as possible, which meant four of seven hostiles down. He moved over to the next, this time he knelt before simply swinging the axe downward, and cleaving through the rebel's skull, a muffled _thunk_ as the axe hit the floor below the only significant indication that anything had happened. Looking up he saw that the rest of the rebels seemed to be taken care of, save for one that Sunra was stabbing in the heart several times as the man struggled briefly with her.

Muffled cries and soft _thumps_ were heard before the man finally passed on as blood flow to the brain ceased, or shock set in. Sunra gave a sigh as she finally pulled her knife free and wiped it on the dead man's tunic and pulled her hand back from his still twitching lips. From somewhere in the hab they heard the sound of lasfire and knew that the time for surprise had now gone. Standing up the team filed out of the room, Jericus on point to provide info on enemy positions through the wall, pointing at a nearby door he motioned for them to stack up on the wall and get into firing positions.

As they finished the door came open and several rebels began to run out, going in the opposite direction, likely to where the lasfire was coming from. As the fifth rebel came out of the room team Gamma opened fire on their backs, lasfire punching through them easily and dropping them to the ground, wounds still steaming. Jericus gave a nod showing that those five were all that were in the room and the team continued on down the corridor to where the weapons fire was coming from.

Entering another hallway they instinctively went for the cover they could find as they came upon an open firefight, teams Delta and Charlie engaging the enemy who numbers about ten. A good six rebel bodies lay in the hall between the two groups, kills made by Charlie and Delta, team Gamma lent their own weapons to the cause and soon the rebels began to retreat as they took a few more casualties.

"Bravo, 'bout eight left over's headed your way be ready for 'em," a Randon trooper from Delta stated over the vox. Bravo team responded in kind and let it be known that they were set-up and waiting, more weapons-fire was heard as the rebels ran into them. It cut off shortly after and Bravo reported that the rebels had been taken out over the vox, with that the first floor was taken care of and the squad was now moving up to the second where there was about another squad worth of rebels.

Resistance on the second floor was harder to deal with, element of surprise gone the now joint teams ended up having a mass moving firefight through the rooms and corridors with the rebels who were now expecting them. Two teams of four fought in tandem, one assaulting while the other tried to use the maze of halls and rooms to flank the enemy rebels they came across. It was pure chaos; the rebels with nowhere left to retreat what with the ground level cut off were fighting tooth and nail to survive.

Rounding a corner Jericus had nearly been skewered on a bayonet, his eye's thermal mode off due to the confusing nature of the hot lasbolts and bodies everywhere. He parried the thrust at the last second and Anrai drove his spike-axe into the rebel woman's skull, Jericus returning the favor seconds later by shooting another hostile about to blast his savior's skull off with an auto-pistol.

They were moving quickly down the corridor eliminating rebels as they came, it seemed that with their numbers dwindling the rebels were now panicking, simply trying to find a way out. Jericus witnessed one jump from a window as they stormed a room and lanced fire into the others; they heard a scream faintly over the sound of battle followed by a muffled _crack_, that man was not going anywhere.

Sweeping through the rest of the floor the teams soon converged with each other, the last of the rebels being cut down as they simply ran, some tried to get out of windows like their comrade, and most of these were shot in the back as they tried to escape. Others made it out only to break their legs from the high fall, if not outright kill themselves.

"I think it's safe to say that the building is secure," Sergeant Joss huffed, catching her breath.

"What do you see S-1049," B-63 deferred to Jericus' eye. It took him a second to activate the augmetic, a slight phantom pain emanating from the not there tissue, but soon the building was alight in bio-thermal signatures. Giving a thorough look around Jericus found that save for the thermal signatures of himself and his comrades, and the slowly fading ones of the dead, that there was no other living beings in the structure, save for the rats.

"Looks clear Watchmaster," he reported dutifully.

B-63 nodded, "Good work finding these heretics S-1049, now let's keep up the sweep, if there isn't any objections." There weren't and they promptly exited the hab, splitting up into their teams and trudging down the streets of the southern sector to continue the sweep.

* * *

Their time on Tartarius was coming to an end, rebel forces had been all but extinguished, Adeptus Arbites and loyalist PDF troopers sweeping up the scant few that remained. The Imperial Guard were mostly still around to provide a strong front, token watchdogs meant to intimidate anyone who may want to try and restart the rebellion, but that was far from likely, in City-32 the rebels were done for. A dying creature giving off a death rattle before it finally passed.

Jericus found himself doing routine patrols more often now, just for show really, no more sweep and clears, or search and destroy. It was just to show Imperial presence in force, and it was all very boring in comparison to the previous fighting. When they weren't patrolling they were usually given R&R, Watchmaster B-63 felt they needed to relax more than to train, and they'd train and drill in transport to the next campaign anyway, so why bother when they were in what was still considered a warzone.

If he was honest with himself the relative peace aggravated him, it wasn't that he was blood thirsty, or partial to the adrenaline high of battle, no, he just didn't like that he now had time to think things over. Again he had the thought, it wasn't the combat itself, but it was the time you spent thinking about it that would unravel you. Right now, it was that man… Georgii, obviously a psyker, and try as he might Jericus could not forget what had been revealed. A blank, that's what he had called him and the regiment's sanctioned psyker said that meant he was a psychic null.

He couldn't help but wonder where that would leave him in the future, it had sounded as though he was something just as likely to get taken away as any other witch was. On Surris they had never had any witches, by word of the preacher's of Clonevan Jericus' world was truly blessed by the Emperor. He soon struck the thoughts from his mind, trying to focus on his surroundings.

Currently he found himself simply walking through one of the upper levels of city 32, and for the first time ever Jericus actually saw civilians, not rebels, not guardsmen, not PDF, but normal frightened civilians. It was part of the southern sector that had been cleared not too long ago and the refugees behind friendly lines were allowed to go back to their homes, or what was left of them, and start the cleanup process.

Watchmaster B-63 had them all keep their weapons at the ready, just in case. Their Randon and Hoarfell allies did the same, but this didn't matter, as the people seemed to have no ill intent at all. In fact the battle tested guardsmen walking through the streets of their home saw many brighten up, shouts of thanks and gratitude filled the air as they passed groups of men, women, and children, all victims glad to finally see an end to the tragedy of the rebellion.

The warm welcome eased the squad and soon they were walking loosely, a few particularly thankful civilians offered small gifts. A bit of food here, a flower there, some simply shook hands with those guardsmen willing, and one man actually gave Cain a bear hug crying his thanks to them for saving his family. Jericus noted Cain's strangely shocked/genuinely happy expression before he returned the gesture to the emotional father.

Even the frightening Korpsmen in their skull-masks were not left out of the thanks, Jericus had one young girl, no more than eight years, come and pin a small artificial flower to the lapel of his trench-coat. He had to kneel down to allow the child to reach, it helped that he wasn't particularly tall, but the child was still quite a bit smaller than he was. Bright shades of blue made the fake plant-life stand out easily from the dark colors of his uniform, and Jericus couldn't help the small smile that came to his hidden lips. Patting the small girl affectionately on her head he then watched as she ran back into the crowd toward what he presumed was her father.

Her kind gesture and the genuine relief coming from the liberated citizens was almost enough for Jericus to overlook the fact that she had had a ghastly looking scar running across her small face, it was recent, he could tell by the still pink and puckered flesh. He tried to push the grim reminder of the rebellion away as he stood and resumed his walking, looking down at the flower for a brief moment.

"I'll have to take this off before long, it'll give away my position…" he mused lowly.

"Don't worry about it S-1049, the Randon already take care of giving away our position, leave it, you'll be fine," B-80 commented from his side, commenting on the Randons crimson red uniforms. Taking a look at the brightly colored guardsmen Jericus could see that they were in fact attracting the most attention from the locals, their bright colors, and open attitudes made them particularly appealing. Most of the Randon also seemed to have no qualms with taking whatever gifts the civilians gave to them, Jericus recognized Sunra accepting a bottle of some kind of alcohol quite gladly from a man who seemed to be a shop owner.

Jericus had to say that he was relieved by the reaction the civilians gave them as they passed through, he couldn't say that he would have been as happy to see the guardsmen as they were. It seemed strange and even downright stupid to him now, but even though they had saved Surris, these were still the same people that took away his family, and he was sure that was the case for more than one of the people now thanking them. He supposed that it was just his own irrational reaction to what had happened on his homeworld.

He had to admit that he felt guilty now though, being a part of a liberation campaign to free a populace of some sort of threat. Feeling the worry of his comrades dying, the pressures of war, things were different on this side of the mask. When he had first seen the Death Korps herding him and his people through the streets of Clonevan he thought they were just as monstrous as the savage orks that had invaded. Now, well his opinion still hadn't changed despite the indoctrinations best attempts, but he had to concede that at least now he understood a little better, and so a small measure of guilt sat with him.

The remainder of that patrol passed without incident and they were soon back at the base for rest. Jericus sat on a crate alone admiring the fake flower that had been gifted to him by the little girl, looking out over the edge of the plaza that the base had been set up on he could see what seemed to be the sight of the city rebuilding itself. Smoke from the conflict was starting to stutter and stop altogether; damages to the structures seemed to repair themselves as each day passed by. It was like a living thing healing after having suffered a sickness.

Fenria was going over her equipment for the moment, leaving him to his current thoughts. In reality she was still feeling a sort of guilt for having chopped off his arm, sure she had done it to save his life, but she couldn't help the small voice of doubt chewing at her mind that he might hate her for doing it. As she stripped and cleaned her longlas her thoughts muddled together and continued to spew forth reasons to fuel her guilt.

Though still reeling from his recent limb loss Jericus was hardly mad, or even miffed with his friend. Instead all he could think about was that they would finally be leaving the planet's surface not three days from now and he was now wondering what the next campaign would be. As he again looked at the fake flower Jericus distantly hoped it would be somewhere where he could see the real living thing the ornament was based on.

"Gotta admit it's a nice view," B-80 seemed to materialize out of the gloom. "Nothing on the forests of Baurine, but still beautiful in its own way," he finished.

Jericus stayed quiet for the moment carefully placing the flower back into the lapel of his trench-coat looking back at the 'horizon' and appraising it again.

"Yeah," his reply was quiet, barely heard above the background noise of the city.

"You okay there lad, going through what you have is rough, and I've known troopers who've cracked because of far less," B-80 surmised.

"This trooper is fine sir, it's just mulling over a few things about the last operation. Its new augmetics are not bothering it in the least, other than the occasional phantom pains, but those will not affect its performance," Jericus replied at length, a slight lie, he had noticed his aim was a bit worse at times, when his arm relived the shock of being chopped off.

B-80 breathed out loudly before finally taking a seat next to him. "That's all well and good trooper, now tell me how you really feel, and enough with the 'this trooper', and 'it' crap you're not a trainee anymore. As far as we're concerned you've earned the right to refer to yourself as such, around us at least."

Jericus paused exhaling very audibly, it sounded almost like a huff if it weren't distorted by his mask. "Just like I said sir, mulling things over, ever since the orks attacked Surris it just seems like my life has been falling to pieces."

"Ah, I know the feeling," B-80 appraised Jericus' answer, his tone sympathetic. "You know there was a saying on my homeworld Baurine."

"What was it?" Jericus asked quietly, but curious.

"It goes something like this," B-80 held up three fingers and counted them off with the responses. "Everyone is born one of three things a sheep, a wolf, or the shepherd with his rifle." He let his hand drop to his lap as he counted the final finger.

"Now my question for you Jericus is which one are you?" B-80 asked.

Jericus looked away from the man and back out at the city, watching as the wounded giant repaired itself and as the millions of souls in the distance got back to their lives, or tried to, he left B-80's question unanswered. He didn't know what he was.

Elsewhere Watchmaster B-63 was meeting with his old friend B-52, the two veteran korpsmen were sharing some home-brewed Hoarfell rungi in celebration for another campaign survived. They also happened to be going over a few things regarding the events that had gone down during the course of the battles and skirmishes.

"So, were they everything you dreamed they'd be," B-52 asked in reference to Jericus and Fenria, both of whom B-63 had handpicked himself.

"Yes, just like I said, the lass came out of all that action with barely a scratch," B-63 started.

"And the lad," his friend asked after a slight pause.

"Well… he's a survivor, just like I said. According to the after action report it was his idea to chop off his own arm to get away, hardly any other man in that position would have been able to think of that option, or rather request it willingly. On the bright side the new parts haven't seemed to dull his disposition," B-63 swirled the contents of his tin-cup watching the murky alcohol as it became a small whirlpool; B-52 knew this to be a nervous gesture.

"There's something you're not telling me," B-52 stated, not unkindly, but insistent.

B-63 sighed, the muffled sound from the gasmask sounding more like a deep breath. "Well something went wrong during the raid; I assume you've read the report?" B-52 nodded in confirmation before his friend continued, "What's written isn't entirely the truth, I may have fudged it a bit, lied to the lad to keep him calm, and called in a few favors to keep Sergeants Joss, and Grimes mostly quiet about it. There's something up with the lad, he faced off against what had to have been a psyker and he survived, I've not seen many souls that could do that."

"You don't think he's tainted do you," B-52 inquired calmly.

"No, I had the bolt magnet take a look at him, he was convinced that the lad wasn't, but he is something. Called him a psychic null, as far as the explanation went the exact opposite of a witch, I decided to omit that particular bit of news. Far as what was said the lad isn't a danger to any of us anymore than a regular man, in fact this could work in our favor if we keep it under wraps," B-63 decided.

B-52 paused, looking thoughtful despite the mask. "I've never questioned your judge of people before, best not to start now."

"Aye, good to hear, it goes without saying that you shouldn't mention this to anyone else," B-63 sipped at his drink. "But speaking of subordinates, I'm gonna need at least two new grenadiers, as you know F-888 is gone, and F-920 cracked. I'll be keeping F-920 on, he requested that much, but I don't think he'll be with us for much longer, I'm thinking of recommending him for a quartermaster position pending his future field performance. Do you have any particular recommendations, I'm not much in the mood to be flipping through files, I liked F-888 he was a good lad, and a good grenadier, the loss is hard."

B-52 breathed out, shrugging his shoulders. "Few more Surrins, they seem to be working out for you. They've survived the spire offensive, and they show quite a bit of promise, can't get you anyone more experienced though, anyone from the Faur conscription is in high demand, and anyone else is too high-up, or needed elsewhere."

"I'll take whoever you think'll work out for me partner. Just send 'em to me once we're back on the_ Ipsum_ and I'll get 'em ready," B-63 nodded in acceptance.

"Can do," B-52 stated. "Say did ya hear about the new recruits?"

B-63 paused drink halfway to his mouth. "No can't say that I have, didn't think we sustained enough casualties for the 82nd to think about new conscripts."

"Technically we haven't, but those on high want the regiment to be as whole as possible before the next campaign. If you believe the rumors floating around then it's because they're expecting our next fight to be particularly nasty, it's only a few hundred conscripts though," B-52 replied.

"Still odd though, especially since the Korps doesn't tend to recruit from worlds plagued with rebellion," B-63 supplied.

"Exactly, that just tells me that there really are some frightening expectations for the future," B-52 gestured with a pointed finger. "But, enough about the depressing stuff."

Clinking tin-cups signaled the end of the conversation as the two friends went back to drinking and less troubling subjects.

* * *

**A/N: Well here's another one, this time I shall see you all in two weeks as opposed to next week, but expect no longer than that I promise. As always kindly review and leave your input. On the subject of reviews I'd like to thank BIBOTOT for your continued support and ratings, also Anon and Guest for the encouragement, and finally Uzushio5179 for the critique, ideas, and subsequent apology. Though that last one wasn't necessary my friend, your input was valid, your questioning sound and I will certainly take it into consideration. Without giving away too much think of the first campaign as the training wheels for the cast, things are gonna get very rough for them in the future I can assure you.**

**300-709**


	15. Phantoms

**Disclaimer- I do not own Warhammer… you get the idea by now yeah?**

**A/N: Alrighty, I'd like to thank DeathDemonWolf for his review and future support, it is very much appreciated. And well gosh that is some praise there my good sir or madam, can't say I'm sure that I'm worthy of it. If I were to be so bold however I'd like to say that I am proud of myself with this little story, it started out as kind of an experiment and now I'm well over 90,000 words, which is a real accomplishment for me personally as an amateur writer. As for reviews, fear not I feel 'em coming, lol, but seriously thanks to everyone who has, favorited, alerted, and reviewed thus far it is all appreciated. Also thanks go out to Guest, and Uzushio5179 for your reviews as well. Well this author note is overstaying its welcome, kindly read, review, and hopefully enjoy. **

* * *

"**Each forward step we take we leave some phantom of ourselves behind."- John Lancaster Spalding**

As he hauled the hundredth crate into the waiting shuttle Xavier wondered why whenever it came to food and provisions the Hoarfell always seemed to be the only ones out of the three regiments to take care of and move it. Death Korps took care of arms and munitions, the Randon did whatever it is they do, and the Hoarfell took care of edibles.

"Hey, ever wonder why we always seem to take care of the food?" Cain questioned as they made their way over to the stockpile to get another crate. Xavier couldn't control the fit of laughter that overcame him as his friend voiced his very thoughts. Cain gave him a wary look and subtly increased the space between them as his mirth went on far too long for Xavier to look sane.

"Oookay, best stop now man before they throw you in with the Randon," the laughter went on. "Seriously it's gettin' creepy now Xavier."

Catching his breath Xavier gave off one last chuckle. "Sorry, sorry you just said exactly what I was thinking is all, found it funny."

"Yeah, a little too funny if you ask me, but whatever laughing is good for your head. Least that's what the Sarg says, if you ask me it's the first sign a few screws are loose." He paused glancing over at Xavier's unamused look, "uh, no offense, heh."

Xavier smiled in response, though it quickly turned into a grimace as they lifted a rather heavy crate, naturally Cain was the first to complain. "Emperor, what's in this one?"

"Don't know, but let's get the kecking thing onto the shuttle quick," Xavier huffed as they awkwardly waddled with the heavy crate of food. Getting up the ramp was rough, but eventually the two all but threw the crate into position and stopped to catch their breath. Cain even went so far as to lean against the crate as he caught his breath, Xavier felt the acid in his muscles slowly recede and was walking back down the ramp for another crate, Cain trailing behind after a moment.

"You'd think that all that training, exercise, and the whole fighting a war bit woulda made us a little stronger huh," he joked.

Xavier chuckled in response as they went to get the last crate of the stockpile; Eli and Hack were waiting for them. Both having finished their own stockpile moving duties, after they wrapped this up they were reporting back to Grimes and then they were being shipped up to the_ Ipsum_. Their duty on Tartarius was done, now they were going to a new world, the Randon 145th was already waiting for them on the ship, the 82nd would be last off world, and they would be in the middle.

As they walked toward the waiting ramp with their last burden an epiphany struck him. "I got it!" He exclaimed.

"Got what?" Cain said with a strained voice.

"The Hoarfell, we take care of the food because the veterans probably like to put that fungus crap into the supplies," he responded proud of his reasoning.

Sudden realization bloomed on Cain's face. "You know that actually makes sense, I've been wondering how Sergeant Grimes has been keeping his supply of liquor all this time. The old bastard has inside men all over who pack the stuff for him and all the other vets, damn, talk about conspiracy," he chuckled, followed by a grunt as the weight took him by surprise as they went up the ramp and the weight of the crate shifted.

Finally they finished loading the last crate, all but dropping it to the deck; Xavier took a deep satisfied breath as he walked down the ramp, Cain imitating him, the two wandered over to where their squad mates were seated. Eli and Hack looked up from the public bench that they had claimed for themselves, they made room as Xavier and Cain took their seats, both sitting down with relieved sighs.

"We ought to be getting to the Sarg soon," Hack said crossing his arms.

Eli was quick to lightly cuff him about his head. "Ow! What was that for Eli, Keck."

"First time in weeks we've been able to take a real break and you want to get back to the Sarg to get more marching orders? Think about that for a second," Eli said leaning as far back as the bench would allow him, it looked uncomfortable to Xavier what with the way his spine bent over the back.

"Usually I'd agree with you Hack, but just this once I'll take Eli's side," he interjected.

"See even Xavier the honorary blank is on my side," Eli joked his finger pointing animatedly at Hack as he rubbed his victory in his comrade's face. Cain chuckled off to the side, meanwhile Hack gave Eli a good natured glare while Xavier just sighed for what felt like the thousandth time and relaxed against the bench even more so.

"Speaking about the blanks… any idea where that friend of yours is Xavier, you know our knight in battle-scarred armor?" Cain questioned cracking his neck and then twisting to pop a few vertebrae.

"You mean Jericus right?" Xavier was always adamant lately about making sure his fellow squad-mates knew his childhood friends name and referred to him as such.

"Oh come on man you know we're just pulling your leg, of course he means Jericus. So just tell us how the lucky bugger is already," Eli said merrily.

"You're not planning on tracking him down to try and touch his arm again are you, because he always had a mean right hook and I think its gotten meaner," Xavier said to the embarrassment of Eli. The fruit-merchant turned Hoarfell sniper was still trying to live down that slip-up and his crush on the cog-girl, Xavier and the rest had been ribbing him about it ever since the incident.

"Keck no man, I just wanna know how he's doing, last time we saw him he looked lost what with the way he was staring at that flower and all," Eli protested.

"Don't really know, haven't seen him lately around the base and it doesn't seem I will until we're all back on the _Ipsum_," Xavier let out a long sigh shrugging his shoulders.

"Well that sucks," Eli stated matter-of-factly throwing his hands up in the air to be dramatic.

"What sucks trooper, is that you all seem to be sitting here doing nothing," Sergeant Grimes seemed to come out of thin air as he walked around the bench to stand in-front of the four of them, a smirk on his haggard face. The four startled guardsmen immediately shot up and stood to attention, even going so far as to salute stiffly.

"Sorry sir, we were just taking a short break," Xavier responded for the team.

Grimes simply waved them all off with a queer look on his face. "I get it trooper, I was just messing with you all, and cut the saluting and sir crap too. Remember what I told you all when we first hit the dirt, saluting just gets your superiors killed first by sniper fire, not that we really have to worry about that too much now but still."

"Gotcha Sergeant Grimes," Cain replied, the rest of them nodding along.

Grimes gave each of them a look in the eye before shrugging. "Anyway, get your gear boys, our times up, it's time to get off this dirtball and head to the next. We've got a shuttle to catch so make the trip to the barracks snappy."

The veteran didn't even bother to throw a salute their way as he walked off, probably to get to the transport if the amount of war-gear he was carrying was any indication. It was fine, the four of them knew where to go to meet up with their Sergeant for transport, they had each been looking forward to their departure from Tartarius and City-32 for weeks now and the time had finally come.

Slowly but surely they began to trudge toward their makeshift barracks, an old municipal building of some sort on loan to them by the new temporary governor of City-32. The guard had gutted it of its original furnishings in their short time there and set up a makeshift bunk area for the troopers to get some rest between the patrols of weeks prior.

Currently the building was in the process of being gutted again as troopers went about taking almost everything not nailed down with them to be shipped back into orbit. Xavier and his four comrades walked through the sparsely populated halls and made their way to the bunk area, their belongings packed in their packs and ready to go. They had claimed the small area in the corner of the room some weeks ago setting up their makeshift sleeping quarters consisting of guard issue sleep-bags, Hoarfell vets called them body-bags on account of them frequently using them to collect and haul their dead out of an engagement.

Currently the bags were all packed away though and only four guard issue packs sat in the space, any personal touches they had added were few and had already been put away that morning. Cain got to his pack first, going to rummage through it he pulled out a small bundle, it was something wrapped up in the local paper and reaching into the makeshift bag he snatched an oblong object from it.

"Hey Eli think fast!" He tossed the object to the sniper who dropped his own bag to clatter to the floor just so he could barely catch it.

"The keck Cain," Eli seethed, but Cain just smiled in response before passing the rest of the contents in the bag to everyone else.

"Oh come on you were a fruit merchants son, figured you'd appreciate some quality goods. Got 'em from a local, a thank you for saving them, figured I'd save these for when we finally left this planet," Cain bit into his own fruit, the juices flowing down his chin, crooked grin on his face. Xavier noted with amusement that Cain had always been a bit of a messy eater, no table manners; he vehemently denied such accusations from the others of course.

Eli finally looked down at the fruit in his hands giving it a small squeeze to test its ripeness, and inspecting the odd speckled color scheme of its skin before finally taking a bite. The young sniper let out a satisfied sound as pleasant memories of home flooded his head courtesy of the sweet local fruit. Xavier could see the nostalgia written on his friend's face as he savored the taste of a foreign worlds produce. Xavier took a bite of his own, it was ripe as well, it tasted distinct, certainly not what he would have found on Surris, their homeworld's fruits were usually tart and could only be grown for a very brief period of time in the usually cold climate.

He smiled as he watched everyone enjoy the small luxury, noting that Cain had the same look on his own face as he watched them all take bites of their own share of his spoils.

"Thanks Cain," Eli was first to speak up.

"Yeah, they're really good," Hack added in his soft manner, wrapping up the remainder of his own half eaten fruit for later.

Xavier just gave his friend a nod and a smile while he basked in his glory for all of two seconds before he broke it. "We better get going, the Sarg is probably gonna leave without us if we don't show up soon."

"Way to ruin the moment Xavier," Cain grumbled with a snort, picking up his pack he slung it over one shoulder and started to walk toward the exit. Eli and Hack soon followed opting to secure their gear a bit better to their backs; Xavier was the last to follow imitating Cain and throwing his own bag over one shoulder and bringing up the rear of the group.

Walking out Xavier could see Tartarius' sun setting, even through the smog, and dust choked skyline of City-32. The perpetual particulates in the air refracting the fading light as it was in turn reflected off of glass windows and filtered through silhouetted skyscrapers. Transport was waiting for them in the form of one of the troopships they had arrived on, landed as it was on a wide rockcrete expanse of the plaza which had once served as a parking lot for auto-cabs it looked strangely normal.

Hundreds of Hoarfell guardsmen walked in an orderly line to board, Sergeant Grimes was standing off to the left side of the crowd and waved them over to him. As they approached their commanding officer Xavier glanced at the faces of the guardsmen that they passed. He could easily tell the veterans apart from the Surris conscripts like himself, the vets all seemed to be in good spirits, leaving the war wrapped up as it was. His fellow Surrins though… well he recognized the haunted looks on the majority of their faces, he had seen it on Cain's, Eli's, and Hack's… Garvel's, and his own.

War weary is what some of the vet's had called it, something that ironically enough affected those new to combat more than those who had been fighting for a few years. Veterans had long since learned to cope with the realities of fighting, new recruits though had to learn or they would die, or crack, which would just lead to death. Xavier's sightseeing was cut short as they approached the open maw of the troopship, the utilitarian craft a bookend to their first war, so they had arrived on one, and so they departed on one.

Counting the clanking steps as they walked up the ramp Xavier felt the weight of previous months slough off his soul like dead skin. It was a strange feeling, one he didn't expect, but welcome nonetheless. Soon enough they found their seats, strapping in they secured their packs, and wargear, and then it was just a waiting game for the ship to fill up to capacity and prep for takeoff.

Cain sighed to his right slumping into his seat as best he could while Hack cleaned his nails on his left, Eli to Hack's immediate left was jittery, he didn't like flying apparently, they had learned on the way down when his vomit went flying into another conscripts face across from them, luckily Sergeant Grimes stopped any fight before it could be started.

Grimes himself elected to stay with them, taking his own seat all the way to their left, farthest toward the front of the ship, he had actually closed his eyes and looked to be trying to fall asleep. Xavier reckoned that he could given that unlike the rest of them Sergeant Grimes had had maybe a decade or so of service to get used to sleeping in absolutely miserable conditions.

"Thank the Emperor its over am I right partner?" Cain replied a big cheesy grin on his sweaty, stubble covered face. Xavier gave a small smile of his own to his friend, though his own sigh of exhaustion wiped it from his lips just moments later as he too slumped in his own seat.

"It's not over Cain, this is just the beginning," he replied rubbing a hand down his tired equally stubble covered and he assumed dirty looking face.

"Keck Xavier, why do ya always gotta be the joy kill of our little group," Cain's grin had faded and he looked away staring instead at the close ceiling of the ship.

Xavier took a deep breath. "Someone's gotta be partner, better me than you."

The mechanical whine of the troopship's doors closing told them that they were finally leaving, minutes later the sudden lurch as they took off cued them that they had left the ground. If they had any doubt that they were flying after that then Eli put it to sleep when he emptied the fruit he had eaten into a small bag he had acquired for the occasion.

"Damn I wanted to keep that fruit down," Eli stated miserably, spit and regurgitated bile dripping from his mouth.

"Its fine man, I didn't eat half of mine, you can have it when we're back on the _Ipsum_." Hack patted his friend on the shoulder soothingly as he again tried to void his stomach of its contents.

Shaking violently as it broke atmosphere the troopship put Eli into even more misery, the poor youth giving a soft moan of distress. Xavier tried to ignore the sound, not for lack of sympathy, but because it reminded him of Garvel dying down in that muck right before a lasbolt granted him mercy.

With grim certainty Xavier once again thought that it indeed wasn't over, it wouldn't be for a long time.

* * *

Boarding their troopship in the early hours of the morning was strangely enough an odd experience, her and Jericus bringing up the rear of their team. Fenria figured the strangeness had something to do with the dust choked twilight that had been the norm for City-32 for quite some time now, ever since the war had reached its climax. She noted that at least Jericus seemed to be back to his somewhat normal state of mind, not as introspective as he had been the past few days.

Their conversations had grown back to their usual frequency and she felt as if she didn't have to tiptoe around him anymore, her guilt having lessened and Jericus being genuinely okay with her actions and saying so helped a lot in that respect.

Watchmaster B-63 had gotten them out of helping to load the munitions, something that Jericus and Fenria had actually protested against, surely the Korps would not take too kindly to its grenadiers receiving special treatment, and it was just too against the code on which the Kriegers operated. But their Watchmaster had assured them that they would be just fine and that their contributions to the war had more than made up for the slight shirk of duty.

Thus they had spent their last day on Tartarius simply lazing around their designated sleep area talking and occasionally playing cards. B-80 joined in on the games once or twice while B-63 had gone off somewhere on some kind of business, Fenria had noticed that F-920 had become distant, which wasn't odd for the korps, but it was for the squad of grenadiers.

From their first day as grenadiers she had noticed the difference, it was very informal, at least outside of combat, and the team had seemed very tight-knit as opposed to the distant cohesion they had experienced in training. Fenria felt bad for the man, empathized with him even, she was trying to imagine what it would be like if she had lost Jericus, the picture she was painting seemed very similar to what F-920 seemed to be going through.

She really hoped she wouldn't have to go through that sort of pain, despite the ties to their new team they had made since fighting alongside them Fenria couldn't feel quite the same connection with them. After all she hadn't gone through training, lost her sense of self, or really talked meaningfully with anyone in the team save Jericus. She shared a much stronger bond with him because of all that history, and because of what they were keeping for one another, the identities they would otherwise have forgotten by now.

Even though it had only been a few short months her memories of Surris, of her family, her previous life felt so very far away, lost in time to the here and now of their first war. This first war, just the beginning of the rest of their lives, Fenria began to have thoughts she felt had been eradicated well into the training. Fear, of the future, of her death, of the death of everyone she had come to know, she thought it funny how the death of Jericus, of these recent comrades now gave her more trouble than any thought of never seeing her family again.

Glancing over at her friend she noted how odd he looked in the perpetual twilight, the augmetics all hidden under his uniform save for the slight irregular look of his right arm which looked a little too thin compared to his flesh and blood left. It twitched every few moments; Fenria remembered Jericus had said it was just phantom pains. She felt that may be part of it, but she had noticed that particular nervous tick of his even when it had been his natural hand.

He tilted his head her way, his silent way of asking her what was wrong, she merely shook her head reassuringly and he went back to letting his eyes wander toward the sunrise a small nod of affirmation that he got her message. At this point they could read each other like open books by body language alone, another skill acquired when one had no face to tell what they were thinking.

Looking at him in profile Fenria studied his mask for the first time, the skull motif had been scarred on the right socket by the rebel's sword, but what really got her attention was the motif itself. Now she had noticed that each mask was slightly varied, something odd for the usually uniform Death Korps, but despite that each was indeed different, possibly handmade due to resource constraints.

Watchmaster B-63's was set in a perpetual rictus grin, B-80's looked like it was smirking at you, F-920's a broken smile, she hadn't looked at hers since she put it on so she didn't know what it looked like. But Jericus' seemed to be the odd one out of the bunch, his masks skull seemed set in a definite frown. Thinking about it she found it odd how a skull could even frown to begin with, but there it was.

Sadly enough Fenria felt that the mask fit Jericus perfectly, it symbolized his sense of loss, one more pronounced than any other conscript she had come across, except maybe his friend Xavier. Though the two seemed two sides of the same coin, Jericus trying to bury his loss and keep a stoic resolve about it, while Xavier seemed to be actively trying to combat and overcome it.

Letting her eyes linger to the sunrise as Jericus had Fenria decided that she had thought upon these somewhat depressing aspects of her and her friends lives enough for the day. Instead she resolved to simply enjoy the oddly beautiful moment the sunrise along with their departure from this world created.

They were the last ones on the troopship, and thus they had the view of the sunrise for the last time before the entryway closed for flight. She watched as the last rays of light disappeared as the ramps shut tight, strapped in and gear stowed, Jericus nudged her shoulder with his own to grab her attention, looking over to him he put his hand out to her.

Staring down she noticed the synthetic blue flower he held out to her, the one he had gotten from the little girl.

"Keep it safe for me, my track record isn't so great what with all the injuries I've already gotten," he said just loud enough to be heard.

"You got it," a smiled played on her lips as she accepted the small token. "And to think this was only our first campaign, you better be more carful in the future."

"I'll try."

* * *

It was a bit of a mystery to Raltia why the Randon got to pack up and go first, when she had asked Anrai the reason he had responded rather sarcastically, 'Last to land, first to leave,' and then he had laughed uproariously and left her hanging. In retrospect he had not been the best choice to ask about the subject, though she had the feeling that not many in the 145th would be the best to ask.

Sure it was a stupid question, but Raltia had always been the most fascinated by the seemingly meaningless, a trait inherited by her father who had obsessed over the minute details of managing the production lines.

_"Every cog in its place, every small bit scrutinized,"_ he had always said as he held her in his lap going over the days work reports and ledgers. It had stuck with her, the small and possibly stupid details of the goings on around her could possibly be very important in the grand scheme of things. Thus her current interest.

Being back on the _Ipsum_ did give her the luxury of time to find anyone willing to tell her what she wanted to know, the 145th believed in jump drills every other cycle, but otherwise they were fairly lax on combat training. Apparently the Randon way was to let actual combat do the training, you survived your first campaign, and you were set as far as the commanders were concerned.

Finally she ran into someone who might give her a good answer, her squad-mate Sunra Foss, like most Randon the woman seemed… eccentric, but she was actually on fairly friendly terms with her now after having served with her and getting into occasional conversations with her about various subjects. Namely about Randon culture, ever since Raltia first got the tidbits from Barach and Sergeant Joss she had been curious about the people of Randon, and she figured that there seemed to hardly be any other Surrin conscripts like herself around her then she would have to get to know more about these people.

They were in their bunk area when she asked Sunra. "I've been wondering," Sunra looks up from sharpening her combat knife, giving Raltia her full attention. "Why were we the first ones off-world? I mean it just doesn't seem to be the usual attitude you all have."

"What do you mean usual attitude?" Sunra's tone isn't one of irritation, merely curiosity, much like Raltia's.

"Well, I mean you all seem to be very gung-ho is all I mean, and that's what the drill Sergeant put into all of our heads during training. So why be the first ones out of the combat-zone, wouldn't we be the last," Raltia words it carefully.

Sunra responds instantly, genuinely cheerful despite her grim answer, "That's simple we have the least life-expectancy, so the higher-ups like to get us off the ground as soon as they can to help prevent loss. We're not like the blanks or the Hoarfell, we literally drop into hot combat zones almost every time we go into battle, and we take more losses per mission on average than they do, though the blanks like to give us a run for our money."

"Oh, well that's a bit depressing," it wasn't the answer she honestly expected, or one she really grasped. After all in her experience so far the higher-ups didn't seem to care too much about their lives, so why try to do something so insignificant to save a few troopers.

"Come on now don't be like that, it's a good thing, gives us a little extra rest time," Sunra says with a smirk.

Suddenly another thought struck Raltia. "Why do the blanks stay back then? If they take as many casualties as us I mean?"

"Dunno, probably something to do with the fact that they tend to keep their troopers busy all the time, it's just their way, duty and all that great stuff they brainwash their troopers with. They probably just do it because someone needs to pack up camp after all right?" she shrugs with a sheepish smile.

Packing up camp is right, probably just better not to think on it anymore Raltia thinks adjusting her position on her bunk. It was really too bad that she was so unused to not thinking about stupid little things, it would continue to eat at her, even with the answers she had just been given. She laid back in her bunk her head hitting the lumpy pillow and she felt the starchy sheets on her bare arms courteously of the tank-top she was currently wearing.

"If it makes you feel any better you did well," Sunra replied from her own bunk across from her.

"Huh?" Raltia was taken aback by the comment.

"The fighting, you did well, out of the five or so new-bloods our squad got you're the only one who made it. Just thought you looked a little down is all, felt you could use some cheering up, I got to admit it's hard to leave your homeworld and fight, and I can't even imagine having to fight in a regiment from a completely different world than me. You're strong Raltia," the Randon woman concluded.

"Thanks," she paused inspecting the stains on the ceiling. "If you don't mind my asking, how long have you been in the Guard?"

"Ah, gets hard to tell with warp travel and all, I was part of a newer Randon regiment the 145th merged with about five standard years back. It was my first action and my original regiment took near ninety percent losses, we were lucky another regiment from our own homeworld no less was around to claim us. That makes it about six years I think give or take." She finished with a smile.

"Do you miss Randon?"

"Not really," she replied right away, at Raltia's questioning look she sighed. "Don't get me wrong, there's no place like home and all that, but as far as homes go Randon wasn't really the greatest. I mean sure us girls are the ones running the show but the place is just one giant hellhole, not too far above deathworld status really."

"How bad can it be? Did you have to deal with razor ice too?" Raltia questioned genuinely, hearing about other worlds was interesting, and it was hard to imagine a world with things worse than a keck, or the ever present chill of Surris.

"Well no, but Randon had a lot of things that really wanted to eat you all the time. Even in the major cities and towns, the reason Randon regiments are drop-troopers is because it's the fastest way for the PDF to respond if your neighbor is about to be eaten by a hemlex."

Now Ralita was really curious. "What's a hemlex?"

"Thank the Emperor you never have to see one; they're about three times as tall as an average person, two sets of claws sharper than a monoblade, and a maw of razor-sharp mandibles that help it to eat you alive. Oh, and they're about as tough as an ork, so it's a pain to bring them down, and they're only one of dozens of animals that routinely try to kill you on Randon." Sunra stated animatedly.

"Keck, now Surris' winters seems like paradise," Raltia commented.

Sunra laughed uproariously. "Not to discouraged you but your world was a pretty bad hellhole itself, I was freezing to death half the time, not to mention that razor ice you mentioned apparently tore up a valkyrie or two, and the heavier gravity wasn't doing any of us any favors. I mean as drop-troopers our gear is already lightweight, but I felt like I had lead weights in my webbing, it was no wonder you and the rest of the new-bloods did so well in endurance training, hah."

"I have been feeling lighter on my feet lately," Raltia chuckled back. It was true, ever since leaving Surris and getting on the _Ipsum_ she had noticed the lower gravity, it wasn't too much, but it was noticeable. In fact she had noticed that she hadn't been running out of breath as often as the other more experienced troopers around her, chalk it up to higher gravity. Their laughter subsided after a few moments, the mutual mirth in the room giving Raltia a genuine good feeling, something she had not had since her conscription. Meeting other Surrin conscripts from the other regiments had helped, but now it felt as though she had finally been accepted by one of her comrades, it was a nice feeling.

"So, I did well huh?" She said with a mischievous smirk.

"Yeah, but if you tell any of the others I said that I'll deny it, you may be blooded, but you're still a rookie," Sunra stated not matter-of-factly, though the smile playing at her lips gave Raltia the impression it was an idle threat at the most.

"Alright, I'll keep your secret Sunra."

* * *

As they disembarked from the troopship onto the _Ipsum's_ vast launch bay Jericus took in his surroundings. The _clunk, clunk_ of Korps issue boots on the deck setting an almost ambient drum beat to the whole affair, Fenria as always to his left they walked with their team. They had left the ship as fresh conscripts, and they had returned hardened, if a still a little new, troopers. A sudden thought struck his mind.

"What does _Nosce Te Ipsum_ mean," it was a question that he had not cared to wonder about at the beginning of this new journey, but now at the end for some reason it seemed relevant.

Fenria shrugged unsure, but curious herself. "Not sure, sounds old though, definitely not gothic," she responded.

"It means know thyself," F-920 responded solemnly, he had become very melancholy since F-888 had passed. When the duo looked his way for further explanation he made no move to elaborate further on the subject despite their silent pressuring to continue. After a moment the two gave up on trying to get more info out of the recently antisocial man, each turning to introspection instead.

"A sheep, a wolf, or a shepherd with his rifle…" Jericus mumbled to himself.

"What was that?" Fenria questioned softly, thinking her friend had meant to say something to her.

Jericus merely shook his head. "It's nothing, just something B-80 said to me, an old Baurine saying," he didn't elaborate, and Fenria simply shrugged and seemed happy to just let it slide for the moment.

Jericus ruminated on it for a bit before something interesting caught his attention, one of the troopships seemed to have civilians coming off of it. As to be expected they looked confused, nervous, and maybe a little scared, he couldn't blame them.

"Sir why are there civilians coming aboard?" he asked thinking the situation strange.

B-63 looked over his shoulder at him and then at the civilians being orientated by a few Korpsmen and a Watchmaster. "New recruits S-1049, possibly new comrades for you, rejoice," though his tone suggested any other action save to rejoice.

Staring back at the new faces Jericus spotted a few that looked familiar, though surely he had to be mistaken at this distance. Not to mention it would have been a miracle they would have survived by themselves in the warzone. Still Jericus couldn't shake the thought, five familiar faces all staring at him, all begging for mercy, and he had obliged, but what were the odds that they had made it out alive and then gotten swept up in the conscription for the 82nd of all regiments.

He struck the feeling down, instead opting to think about the ships name some more. Know thyself?

He found himself wondering if he did.

* * *

**A/N: See you all in no more than two weeks, till then keep on keeping on.**

**300-709**


	16. Sound and Fury

**A/N: Alrighty, new chapter, hopefully to your liking. Thanks go to uzushio5179, BIBOTOT, DeathDemonWolf, and Imperial-Preist Engelbart for your reviews. DeathDemonWolf I've re-read the previous chapter and I can't seem to find the slip-up you found, if possible could you specify exactly where it is as I very much would like to correct any confusion, and thank you for bringing the error to my attention. Imperial-Preist Engelbart I am disheartend that you will no longer be reading the fic, thank you for your input, though as most of us would I feel the need to defend my work. Technically none of the characters I've made are Kreigers, therefore they have not been raised to become nigh emotionless killing machines, instead they are conscripts which are very different psychologically from volunteer/fanatics, so yes they're not going to be quite as disciplined, and some bits of their homeworlds syntax would stay with them even through their training. All that being said and though I'm sure you won't see this thank you for the input. Now that I've blabbed enough kindly read, review, and enjoy. Oh, and over 100,000 words, WooHoo!**

* * *

"**One does what one is; one becomes what one does." –Robert Von Musil**

He woke up, muffled sound returning to his ears, awareness to his muddled mind, and feeling to his numbed body, but unfortunately for trooper S-1049 these feelings were not welcome. His body ached all over, pain in his left leg, possibly a concussion, he couldn't be sure, the phantom pains of his right eye and left arm acting up in force, leaving him nearly frozen from the memory.

A sudden sharp intake of breath surprised him; it was his own, caused by the feeling of air against his face, a face that should not be bare to the world. Finally his body recognized the binds at his wrists, coarse but strong rope keeping even his augmetic from breaking free. Until this point he had kept his eyes closed and played dead, but curiosity had to be sated, so he opened his eyes, natural left lifting its lid while unnatural right whirred and clicked as lenses opened up.

He looked around him, the still unconscious bodies of his comrades stunning him; they were all bare-faced like him, though most of the rest of their uniforms still left to them, even their armor, though the heavy carapace wasn't welcome on his body at the moment. Obviously their weapons were taken from them. He looked around at the unconscious, he couldn't recognize any of them without their masks, kind of strange considering for most it would be the opposite, but not for him.

One though… he did recognize her, if only because he knew her so well that he could tell her apart simply by posture, after all he had never seen her face, and it seemed he still wouldn't seeing as her head was down and her face obscured by her short black hair. He pulled his eyes away from the image, instead looking around to get info on his surroundings, they were all in a cell of some sort, hands tied behind backs, but feet were free, all kneeling.

Suddenly one of his comrades started awake, he looked up suddenly glancing around, his gaze finally settling on him, he recognized the way his gaze shifted, the movement of his body, Corporal B-80, he and Jericus were the only ones awake. B-80 gave Jericus a questioning look, too little info on where they were to talk and let their captors know they were awake. One thing was for sure, they certainly weren't behind friendly lines, Jericus' memories were slowly coming back.

They had been on a raid, further into the city, ahead of friendly lines, they were ambushed, stun grenades. Jericus couldn't recall what happened after that, so that only meant they were incapacitated and well here they were. The sole door to the room bangs open, the others are still unconscious not having stirred one bit at the loud sound. Unfortunately Jericus and B-80 both spun their heads to look in the direction of the door, silhouetted in the doorway an enemy soldier stood tall.

His battle armor much more advanced than theirs, it was sleeker, lighter, and as they had first hand experience with much better at taking punishment than even their heavy carapace plates. Helmet off the man gave them a wicked looking grin.

"Well, looks like two of the prisoners have stirred," he spoke with a chuckle. "Bring them to the interrogation room, let the others keep resting, we'll get to them soon enough."

Four more men filled the doorway, clad in the same form-fitting armor as the first, though these had full-face helmets on, their faces obscured by the heavy looking plate of material, only two pinpoints to indicate where the eyes were, sensors for them to see out of. Two went to Jericus and two went to B-80, neither resisted as they were hauled bodily to their feet and then led out of the room.

They didn't go far, only a few rooms down, stopping at the door the helmetless man knocked a sequence, three sharp raps, followed by two loud thuds with his palm. Seconds passed before the door opened up, inside a spindly man greeted them with an unsettling smile, he wore a heavy smock, gloves, and a clear face visor. He would have looked scholarly had it not been for the ominous stains of said smock and gloves.

"Ah so I finally get to see how one of these skull-faces tick, Sergeant Graves you are too kind to me," his smile grew even more unsettling if it were possible. He welcomed them all in beckoning the escorts to put Jericus and B-80 into two metal chairs; both spaced about ten feet across from each other and bolted to the floor.

Jericus had a feeling he knew what was going to happen to them, he had been trained to resist torture, it had been rather brutal as all training in the Death Korps was, but training and a real situation were two entirely different things. At some point in the training they had to stop beating you if you were to live to become a trooper, these men around him didn't have to play by those rules.

He was placed roughly in the chair, hands still behind his back and tied, and curiously the chairs didn't have straps to keep him restrained. Though his two well armored escorts to either side of him was deterrent enough, so he supposed that was the reason. B-80 was placed in his own chair across from him. The now named Sergeant Graves stood off to the side and watched for the moment, casually leaning against a cart holding various instruments of torture.

Mr. Spindly walked to the center between the Jericus and B-80 spreading his arms wide. "Now gentlemen, here's how this'll work, one of you is going to be 'tickled' as we like to call it. The other can stop this by simply answering our questions, if you answer truthfully the other has nothing to fear, if not… well you'll see I'm sure." He clapped, "With that in mind let us begin, who do you think should have to endure, and who will answer our questions?"

Graves put his hand to his chin looking pensive as he looked over both Jericus and B-80, finally giving his answer. "I say we let the corporal endure, I hear say these skull-faces are very big on following orders, we get him to start begging then his underling will surely answer. Plus the other one looks like he's had enough done to him," he snorted in amusement at that last bit.

Mr. Spindly nodded. "An excellent choice Sergeant, you impress me as always. So without further adieu," he went to the cart and wheeled it over to B-80 who continued to look stoic and resolved.

Jericus could tell what B-80 was saying to him, even though they hadn't uttered a word to each other, he could tell just from the look in his eyes.

_"Don't tell them a word trooper, no matter how much I scream and beg. Remember your duty, remember your comrades, if you blab you've betrayed us all, and I will never forgive you,"_ was what he was saying to Jericus.

Jericus gave a subtle nod in understanding, B-80 nodded back to affirm the message. The cart was in place and Mr. Spindly was picking out his tools, first up was a rather clean and surgical instrument, it looked like some kind of scoop, but it was too small for food.

"Sergeant if you would begin," Spindly said.

Graves walked right in-front of Jericus, staring him right in the eye. "You have six seconds to answer from the moment I ask the question, or your friend is going to have a very bad day. We'll start off simply, what is your name?"

Not so simple, if you were a Korpsman you didn't have a name, but Jericus didn't say this out loud, instead opting to stare blankly ahead of him. It was time to start shutting things out, B-80 would be in pain soon, and Jericus needed to focus on nothing so that he would not notice.

Five seconds ticked by, Graves sighed. "Have it your way, doc…"

"I've noticed your comrade over there has had a bit of work done, his right eye specifically, how did that happen?" He spoke in friendly manner, as though B-80 was having a thoughtful conversation with him, he waited for the stoic korpsman to give an answer he knew he wouldn't get.

"Ah, no matter, I may not know how he lost his, but I'll know how you lost yours," B-80's escorts immediately grabbed his shoulders, restraining B-80 and holding his head still. The scoop came closer to his right eye as the seconds ticked past, he made no move to get away or close it, instead frozen, and eyes wide as it got ever closer. Jericus knew what it was for now, he had to keep blank, shut. It. Out. Shut. It. Out!

B-80 was a veteran of many campaigns, fought the foulest creatures the galaxy had to offer, unfortunately one cannot help but scream when they are in genuine agonizing pain. B-80 was there right now, in pain, and his own screams shocked him, despite knowing he could take the pain, knowing it wouldn't break him, he couldn't help himself.

When it was over he stared into his own eye, its white membrane interrupted by his own iris and widely dilated pupil. He hadn't seen his own eye color in over a decade… breathing harshly he glanced over to Jericus with his one remaining eye, Jericus had that blank look on his face, no feeling there, no compassion, B-80's pain would not get him to say a word, no matter what they did to him.

The veteran Korpsman was both relieved and frightened. On the one hand the nothing important to their comrades would be compromised, on the other… his suffering was far from over.

They waited a few minutes, Spindly cleaning his tools, Graves staring intently at Jericus' blank façade. Finally they broke the silence.

"Next question…"

* * *

_**Some time earlier…**_

Three weeks ago they had made planetfall, troopships disgorging them in their legions, enemy orbital defense had been obliterated, but ground forces were still strong, still willing to put up a fight, and more technologically advanced than the Imperial forces sent to dispatch them. Not helping matters was the Imperial Navy's resolve to not lift a finger to help in the form of heavy aerial bombardments where it would save thousands of lives.

But as he fought tooth and nail through the urban landscape of the enemy city Jericus didn't reflect on these things. All that mattered was clearing out the city, block by block. The whole liberation fleet including the _Nosce Te Ipsum_ had deployed all available guard regiments, infantry, armored, siege, artillery; everything they had was descending on this lone planet. Named Endurholdgun by the locals, the planet was very ideal for life to thrive sporting a diverse biosphere, a very developed infrastructure, and one very ticked off local unified population of both humans and an unknown xenos species.

As per general protocol the new sentient xenos species was to be exterminated, the humans had been told of the Imperial faith, the Emperor, and the need to take care of the xenos they lived with. They had chosen to side with their xenos allies and thus had to be exterminated along with them.

Normally heavy bombardment of the planet would have opened up such a war, to crippled enemy infrastructure, but for some unexplained reason the Imperial Navy refused and it was then decided universally among the various generals of the fleet that the only alternative was full-on ground warfare in order to secure the planet.

So now Jericus found himself advancing behind a Celk pattern battle tank manned by tankers of the Celk 12th 'Rust-buckets' as heavy enemy fire pinged and saturated their frontal armor. Jericus was eternally grateful to be attached to the Celk 12th regiment, their planets unique pattern of tank was apparently fairing much better against enemy anti-tank weapons than the standard Leman Russ tanks of other armored regiments.

Celk tank jockeys loved to brag about how their armor was made of some kind of composite adamantium/plasteel mix much stronger and lighter than any other. Apparently the Celk homework was famous for their armor production, from tank hulls, to flak-armor that protected as well as carapace, unfortunately thanks to travel time and other factors this technology never seemed to make it out of their home system save for when it went with their troopers.

They were going up a wide main street, five tanks abreast at the front, Death Korps and Hoarfell troopers pushing up behind the protective vehicles. Jericus and his squad were behind the right-most tank, the 'Dogma of Assumption' as it crawled forward both its main gun and front mounted heavy bolters blazing. Suddenly a _whip-crack_ was heard and then the left-most tank was pierced through, sheer velocity from the enemy round making a perfect hole through the tough armor and creating a frightening geyser of crimson as the tankers inside exited with the hyper-velocity projectile.

Death Korps and Hoarfell immediately behind were also ripped apart as the round continued on its deadly path, air-pressure alone rending limbs from their bodies, or if they were lucky merely dislocating. Now their left flank was halted as the troopers behind were forced to move to the other tanks or stay behind the wreckage. Jericus could hear the tank commanders and the N.C.O's shouting between each other over the vox net as they adjusted strategy and targeted the anti-armor emplacement in the building ahead.

Re-directed main canon fire from the four remaining tanks took down the front of the building, the enemy within and their anti-armor killed in a rain of dust and fire. The assault up the road continued, luckily they could focus on the main concentration of the enemy position ahead as the rest of the three battalions assigned to take the sector kept their flanks safe.

"Alright ground-pounders we're going in get ready for CQB!" The main tank commander shouted over the open vox, Korps Watchmasters and Hoarfell Sergeants relayed the news. Moments later the Celk pattern tanks crashed through enemy lines, driving back or otherwise crushing enemy combatants. Jericus heard the distinct scream followed by _crunch_ as the Dogma of Assumption ran over an enemy, any doubts about what had happened were put to bed as he was then treading over the flattened remains, human to be precise.

The tanks stopped, their job done for the moment, as one the guardsmen behind them surged forward into the ranks of enemy troopers now in disarray, as their line was broken by the armored assault. Analysis of prior engagements showed that Imperial forces fought better and won majority of battles that came into melee range against the enemy, not to mention their weapons were much more effective up-close.

Coming round the protection of the tank they were swept by enemy weapons-fire, they retaliated with their own, lasbolts concentrated as teams of two or three guardsmen pre-assigned prior to battle picked out single targets. It had become apparent early on that enemy armor was much more advanced, thus Imperial troopers would pick single targets as a group and spray them down to ensure the kill.

As with most things Jericus and Fenria paired together, their combined fire taking an enemy trooper in the chest, a xenos to be exact, its double jointed legs and the oblong helmet made that fact very apparent. They outnumbered the enemy ten to one and they were capitalizing on the advantage, though not without losses of their own. Many guardsmen were quite literally ripped to pieces as enemy hyper-velocity slugs punched or otherwise cut through body-armor as though it were tissue paper.

Jericus along with the other grenadiers lucked out because of the fact that their carapace armor at least could deflect the hyper-rounds if they hit at the right angle, their comrades lesser flak-armor did nothing against the projectiles. The enemy troopers themselves were covered in what seemed to be head-to-toe body armor, it was made from an unknown material that offered good protection from lasfire at a distance and simply shrugged off all Imperial solid-slug weapons save for bolts.

An enemy came charging forward through the weapons-fire at Jericus who proceeded to grant the man's death wish by running him through with his bayonet. As Jericus wrenched the blade from his victims neck he noted with satisfaction that at least imperial mono-edged adamantium still easily went through the otherwise tough enemy armor. He kicked the dying man in the face, as he clutched at his bleeding wound, snapping his neck in the process and pushing his body to the ground.

Focusing on keeping up with the firing line Jericus helped Fenria deal with another enemy, lasbolts seemed to melt the resistant helmet around the xenos head, its hands dropping its own weapon and springing up to pry the superheated material off. They caught a brief glimpse of the xenos face before they vaporized its ridged head with combined weapon-fire, it had some sort of mandibles in place of a mouth, and large round almost human-like eyes conveyed its pain as it clawed at melted remnants of its helmet clinging to its carapace-like skin.

Flanging screams were cut off as they put an end to its misery, the guardsmen advanced in step with each-other. Numbers and cooperation the only thing they had going in their favor as they cut down the enemy. They finally drove the resistant enemy force to break, human and xenos alike went into a running retreat as they abandoned their positions. Jericus kept up with the rest of the guardsmen as they continued their steady advance, they had their orders, and soon they would be fulfilled. They drove the last of the enemy force into the crossfire of their waiting Randon comrades who had grav-chuted in while the enemy was distracted by the armored advance.

Too late the enemy realized the plan as they were cut down by Randon forces waiting in ambush for them as they passed. The Imperial battle-plan had been to trap the enemy in the natural bottleneck created by the main street and slaughter them with concentrated crossfire. The battle finally concluded as the last enemy trooper was shot by a snipers hotshot bolt, the high energy lasbolt one of the few things that could pierce enemy armor at a distance in one blow.

A cheer erupted from the Imperials as the last of the enemy went down, it marked an end to hostilities in the current city they were occupying, it had been rough fighting, and they were finally done with it. Jericus tried not to dwell on the fact that they were going to have to take many more highly-populated areas before the campaign was over.

Next the Imperial went about conducting clean-up duty, first they had to kill any enemy still alive and writhing on the ground. Then they had to collect enemy weapons and armor to be sent back to command, and finally they were to burn the bodies. Even the Death Korps grenadiers were a part of this particular task. There was no other enemy force within the city to strike at, so they would help with the cleanup.

It took hours to kill wounded, strip bodies, and finally pile them up onto the pyres. The burning took place at night, the fires from the bodies lighting up the streets allowing the guardsmen to set up shop in the area. Enemy forces had been using the area as a forward operating base, the guard simply re-purposed it to be their own after they cleaned up. From here they would be conducting raids and reconnaissance on surrounding areas where the enemy was dug-in or otherwise set up.

Watchmaster B-63 thought it a good time to let his team rest while he went with the other N.C.O's to talk plans and tactics for the future, he took B-80 with him. That left Jericus and Fenria with the anti-social F-920 and their new teammates S-360, and S-548. The new grenadiers had been incorporated into the team and went through dozens of training drills with them during transit to Endurholdgun, they seemed to be very capable. But they were still getting used to the less structured nature of how B-63 ran the team, but they were getting on well nonetheless.

F-920 was off on his own a little ways away from the group, leaving the four Surrins to themselves as they cooked rations over the small fire they had started using scavenged materials to burn. The fire was one of the luxuries they were allowed while in 'friendly' territory, in fact many other groups of guardsmen were also partaking in similar activities around them. It cast shadows over their masks giving the skull-motifs an almost lifelike quality all their own, and bathing the area in a warm glow.

"Can't believe it's only been three weeks and we've lost so many people already," S-360 commented, she was still getting used to B-63's insistence on a more lax attitude, but at least she made more effort than S-548. Though S-548 seemed to be very quiet by nature to begin with, to prove said point he merely grunted in acknowledgment.

"Heard from the Watchmaster that command is expecting at least thirty percent casualties," Jericus put in.

"Well at least we got paired with the Celk, that'll give us a better chance with any heavy fighting in the future, plus we've got the Randon for air support. I've heard a lot of other regiments on world don't have those kinds of advantages, apparently the fighting in the southern hemisphere isn't going well at all." Fenria stated as she picked up her mug of tea she had been heating over the fire, carefully she sipped the liquid through the straw built into her mask, a satisfied sigh echoing from her a moment later.

The patter of boots against the rockcrete caught the groups attention, turning they were faced with the ragged-looking shapes of Hoarfell troopers at the edge of their fires light. One of them stepped forward revealing none other than Xavier to the group.

"Hey there guys thought it was you, heard you were in the same sector as us so we decided to come looking for you in our downtime," he said with a smile.

"Actually he just dragged the rest of us along," Cain commented as he came up and sat down in the circle of grenadiers around the fire.

"Yeah and he promised we'd eat once we found you, so you guys don't mind if we join you for supper right? We brought our own rations, we'll have a nice group dinner, good bonding time," Eli said taking his place beside Cain and pouring rations from his bag.

"Sure, take a seat…" Jericus stated though by that time there seemed to be no choice but to go through with the get-together as Xavier and Hack also took seats around the fire. The Hoarfell troopers started setting up their own meals to cook as they began to swap stories, and make comments about the campaign thus far.

"So not sure if you guys noticed, but we were behind the 'Renovatio' when it got hit, all the way at the back of the group and we still got covered by the crew," Xavier shivered at the memory of liquid remains splashing onto the front of his tunic and the side of his face.

"Emperor that was you, that must have been rough, are you all okay?" S-360 questioned genuinely, Jericus and Fenria had found out early on that she was oddly considerate and concerned for others, something most lost during training. It may have been because she was trained partially to be a field medic, something B-63 was really keen on having as an asset that they had been sorely missing.

"Yeah, you know Xavier he just likes to dramatize everything. Just a little shock, a bit of a shower, some time cleaning our uniforms and we were good to go, nothing we haven't seen on Tartarius really." Cain put in with a chuckle, he usually diverted to humor to cover serious things up.

"Seriously though Cain, those enemy guns are scary, I've never heard of anything that could go through a tank like that, and have you been looking at the wounded. Pretty soon half the troopers fighting the war are gonna be like you Jericus with the way they tear off limbs," Xavier retorted.

"He's right you know," Hack put in cutting off Cain's attempted reply.

"Maybe Mago's Chevel will give me a new arm…" Eli stated quietly to himself. Unfortunately it wasn't so quiet as to escape the hearing of those around him, all of whom were giving him strange looks, even the usually stoic S-548. Jericus subconsciously moved his right arm as far from Eli as he could manage, fully remembering the man's crush on the cog-girl.

"It's not something to wish for, believe me," Jericus spoke up first. Eli's head whipped up, shock, and then a look of embarrassment crossed his face, and everyone broke into laughter at the look on the poor man's face.

"In any case, those weapons are not something I look forward to fighting against for months at a time, you guys are lucky, I heard that carapace actually can protect against some of their small arms," Hack said after the laughter died down.

"Alright, we all get that this war is gonna be horrible and that we're horribly outmatched, but if you can all just humor me here can we move on to something more lighthearted?" Cain pleaded.

"And what could possibly be light hearted with the way our lives are going right now Cain, ever since Surris its been one crapshoot after another it seems like," Xavier retorted, though not unkindly, more looking for his friend to point out a bright spot.

"Well how about you two, how've you been getting along with the hardened grenadiers, last we saw you guys were being put through the ringer when they were training you," Cain said motioning to S-360 and S-548.

"It's been a new experience to say the least," S-360 started. "To be honest though I like being a part of this team much better than the regular Korps, sure we get the tougher missions, but I can actually talk normally, or well mostly normal with everyone here."

"Well that's good to hear, and what about you," Cain gestured to S-548.

The man merely shrugged in response. "It's been good," he concluded quietly.

"He's a real talker ain't he," Cain chuckled lightly, but quickly added. "Nothing wrong with that man, just saying, most of you are quiet, but I get the feeling you were like that before the conscription eh?"

S-548 nodded, finally grabbing his own share of the rations as it finished cooking, he inserted his eating tube and slurped the hot contents of the ration.

"S-548's always been the quiet one of the two of us," S-360 commented, at the questioning looks of the others around her she continued. "We knew each other before the conscription, worked on the same line, grew up together. We lucked out when we were assigned to the same company and then got scooped up by Watchmaster B-63 after we got off of Tartarius," she concluded taking her own rations to begin eating, S-548 nodded to affirm her story.

"That's good, you two were lucky, other than Jericus and Xavier none of us knew each other before the conscription. It's always good to have someone from the past, makes things a little easier to swallow, not that I don't appreciate all of you guys though, just saying it must be nice to have an old friend is all," Eli spoke up over his recent embarrassment.

"Its fine Eli we get it," Xavier said sympathetically. "So who's up for a round of cards?"

"Sorry trooper, but I'm gonna have to cut the game short," Watchmaster B-63 cut into the conversation appearing at the edge of the firelight. "Gonna need my team, we've got a mission, gonna need the rest of you too, your squad is gonna be joined to ours for this one. Sergeant Havlock will brief you Hoarfell boys, I suggest you go along to him, we'll see you soon enough."

"Yes sir," the Hoarfell troopers responded as they got up from their positions. They collected their rations to eat on the way to their Sergeant as they walked off into the darkness, their uniforms making them disappear quickly into the dim blackness. The grenadiers all turned to their Watchmaster, B-80 was with him as well off the right, and even F-920 came closer to the group to hear about their new mission.

"What's the mission Watchmaster?" F-920 surprisingly enough was the first to say something.

"So glad you've asked F-920, as usual we've been given the honor of striking at the enemy first, a smaller city to the south to be exact. We're going to be apart of an initial first strike to take out key targets believed to be dug in there, to achieve this we're being flown in with Randon drop-troopers via valkyrie, I'm sure you all remember Sergeant Joss and her people," at the groups nod he continued. "Once ground-side we strike at both military hardware and high concentrations of the population where we believe they've bunkered down. Hopefully they'll be so taken by surprise that we'll eliminate most resistance so that our main force can sweep in and conduct cleanup. All that said we're leaving now so pack up camp, grab your wargear, and let's go."

They soon found themselves on Randon valkyries, these aircraft in particular made for stealth, their engines muffled by Mechanicus technology. They flew through the inky night sky coming into view of the small city, the valkyries ghosting over the unsuspecting heads of the enemy. Jericus took solace in the strange stillness that enveloped all of them before the drop, before the fighting would begin, though he wasn't sure if he could call it fighting. If all went according to plan they would hit the enemy before they even had the chance to react at all.

Looking across the bay he saw the face of one Raltia Lupa, she had save him on Tartarius, gravchuting with his wounded form out of the main spire to get him to a medicae in time to save his life. She gave a slight wave from across the bay; he gave her a nod back in acknowledgement. They hardly felt the shift as the valkyrie stopped to hover over their drop-zone, three thumps from the pilots cockpit signaling that it was time to get off.

The ramps opened up and they stood lining up to exit the craft, they were rappelling from the hovering vehicles. Jericus watched as those in front of him clipped themselves onto the ropes and descended to the soon-to-be battlefield below. He and Fenria had gotten crash courses on how to rappel along with S-360 and S-548 on the _Ipsum_, it wasn't something taught in any particular detail to regular korpsmen, but they were grenadiers, they had to be able to deploy in any fashion that the mission required of them, and so they had learned.

His turn came, he attached his rappel gear to the rope and off he went, the descend make his stomach lurch and took what seemed to be ten seconds. He hit the ground and was off without a moments notice, Fenria would be coming down right behind him, and he had to clear the way. He went to his position, those down on the ground had to set up a defense in case of hostile detection. Though as he looked around with the thermal imager built into his augmetic eye Jericus could tell that there weren't any enemy troopers nearby.

Soon everyone on their valkyrie was off and ready to go, the aircraft cleared the area disappearing into the night. Leaving them to do the deed, they had all been briefed before going, it was going to be a silent op until it was deemed by the N.C.O's otherwise. That meant no talking, only hand signals, and secure vox communication, they knew their routes, the paths acquired from aerial scans of the city and given to them in the form of crude maps.

Their target was a vehicle depot, enemy tanks were far tougher than theirs were, they'd need to be taken out for the assault to work, it was a good thing that melta-charges still disabled the advanced and deadly vehicles. They would have to work around enemy patrols, for this particular mission that only left them the option to eliminate targets quietly with hand weapons. Lasguns were too bright and loud, and any autorifle they could field wouldn't have enough punch to ensure a kill.

They moved through the back alleys and across the streets as silently as they could their target not far from the drop point. All over the small city the same thing was playing out as teams of Death Korps, Hoarfell, and Randon went about to eliminate their targets. Charges were all to be set to go off at the same time exactly o-two-hundred hour's standard time; they wanted them to go off all at once to better confuse and stall enemy response time.

The rest of their forces would be making the main offensive at the time of detonation; they were currently massing not too far out. Randon would drop from on high, Hoarfell and Death Korps would ride in on chimera with Celk tankers as armored support. Even with all of this they were expecting it to be a hard battle to take the city, but they were hoping to make it quick.

It wasn't long before they came across their first patrol, two enemy troopers, one human one xeno, having to get them out of the way B-63 motioned Jericus and S-548 forward to do the deed. Jericus quietly slung his lasrifle and drew his trench-axe, he had discovered that it could easily chop into a vulnerable gap between the enemy's advanced armor at the neck and even through their helmets if need be, but that would damage the edge. S-548 favored the standard issue Korps fighting knife; they crept up behind their two victims.

Jericus took the human, stepping lightly he kept his axe at the ready, once he was in range he swung horizontally, the axe head easily chopped into the side of the man's neck. It went in nice and deep, the jugular was severed and any cries turned to soft gurgles as Jericus tore the axe free and reversed it to stab in to his neck again with the spiked end. Hardly struggling he held the man's weight dragging him along with him off to the side of the road, S-548 doing the same having dispatched his target with his knife.

The two confirmed that all was clear to the rest of the group with two clicks and a whistle, and then they moved out. They could see the lights of the vehicle depot before they could see the enemy troopers guarding it, skirting around the perimeter their squad strength group found a spot that would permit them entrance with the least amount of exposure. Enemy numbers were limited; the bulk of their forces having been in the larger city the Imperials had already taken. This made it easier for the guardsmen to creep into the depot.

Going in teams of three they went through the gap one team at a time, once they were through the teams would go off and plant their charges onto enemy tanks and other heavy equipment. They had ten minutes to get in plant and set their charges and get out again. Jericus was with Fenria and F-920 as they made their way past rows of tanks further into the depot, leaving the closer target to their entry point for the last of the squad coming in.

Moving through the depot Jericus couldn't help but marvel at the sleek looking tanks and other heavy armor the enemy could field, it was no wonder they rest of the liberation fleet was having so much trouble in the southern hemisphere. They took care of any small patrols as they went, Imperial metal meeting enemy flesh and blood, it was quick the guardsmen much more proficient at CQB than their opponents who were usually unaware of them to begin with anyway. They left the bodies to grow cold, not even bothering to hide them, as it soon wouldn't matter.

Even further back they saw even more exotic looking war-machines in the form of what looked to be hulking powered armor. Though what he was seeing dwarfed even the mighty space marines, the suits stood at around twenty-five feet tall, weapons almost as large as them at their sides. They looked to having fully functioning mechanical hands to manipulate their oversized weapons, clawed feet, and a sturdy chassis for the pilot to sit in.

Those mechs would be their targets, Jericus used hand-signs to let Fenria and F-920 know what he was thinking, the two nodded along with the plan, and they began setting up the charges. They placed them on the vulnerable looking joints of the towering war machines, making sure that the charges would cripple and make useless the mechs. None of them had much desire to fight against such things. Checking watches they knew it was time to head out and regroup, quickly they made their way out of the depot.

Passing by other teams and forming up with them as they went along to the exit, once there they broke up again to make it across the street and out of the depot. Everything seemed to be going off without a hitch as the whole squad finally made it out and into the relative safety of the buildings across the way. Enemy civilians had been taken to safety shelters throughout the city, those were among the targets to be taken out, other groups had been assigned those targets though for which Jericus was grateful. He wasn't sure he could kill civilians, even if they were traitors to mankind.

They waited as the time passed; it wasn't going to be long now o-two-hundred was only a few dozen minutes away now. It was quiet, after all they weren't allowed to talk until the assault commenced, so they listened to the sounds of a city that was on edge. The enemy knew they were going to attack, they just didn't know when, didn't know the attack was coming in only a few scant minutes. Suddenly there was some distant shouting coming from the depot, the enemy had probably finally found some bodies.

Too bad it was too little too late, seconds after the shouting a loud almost simultaneous chorus of explosions shook the city and its residents as all over charges of all types of Imperial make went off. They destroyed vehicles, blew munitions sky high, took down key buildings and defensive chokepoints. Dust choked the air as particles of blown-up buildings saturated everything; this sound of thunder was followed by utter silence as the cities defenders tried to recover from the unexpected explosions.

That was when the advance forces leapt back into action. Jericus was with his whole fire-team again as the joint squad surged forward from their hidden position. They walked into the now destroyed vehicle depot; those that they found still alive were quickly met with lasbolts. Dazed enemy troopers tried to fight back, but the guardsmen had them utterly by surprise.

All over the city similar scenes were taking place as guardsmen engaged in combat with the surprised enemy. Jericus heard the distinct sounds of complete battle as what he knew to be the main Imperial force crashed into the already battered defenses of the city on the outskirts. They would be moving quickly and decisively as they took the city, the enemy had made it easy to locate them by the way they had grouped up themselves and their civilian population.

Exiting the depot the squad advanced up a main street, joining several other advance squads and beginning to fight their way up the road. The dug in enemy was beginning to realize what was happening and started to return fire with their deadly weapons. It was bedlam as allies all around him were cut down, but Jericus kept up as F-920 called out the targets for him and Fenria to focus on with him. They had to focus fire to put down the enemy as fast as possible, the strategy as mad as it was meant they had to keep up the advance.

They couldn't afford to get into any prolonged firefights with the enemy; hypersonic rounds would completely outmatch their deadly light energy. Cover and stating in one place only meant death against these enemies, and so they advanced, in step, firing in volleys and coordinating shots.

Focused light energy melted enemy armor more than penetrated it at a far distance, so enemy trooper went down in agony as the hot material of their resistant armor scorched their bodies under the concentrated imperial fire. Once they closed the distance Jericus found his lasgun actually going through the enemy armor and killing instead of incapacitating. The enemy troopers already on the ground from the agony of their melted armor were dispatched by bayonet to conserve ammunition.

It was a crude but effective strategy when combined with their element of surprise. But as they got past the first emplacement of enemy troopers Jericus soon saw that there were far more and numerous ahead of them, and they were at a good distance off. Looking at the mass of enemy guns pointed in their direction Jericus knew that they were about to be pasted, they couldn't close the distance, and most of their own return fire would be shrugged off by enemy armor at the distance.

As he predicted the enemy tore into them, he saw F-920 knocked off his feet as a hyper-round ricocheted off his carapace chest plate, it ended up practically taking off the head of a Randon trooper beside him and continued to go through the let of another behind that unfortunate trooper. Their squad had time to hit the ground as other guardsmen in-front of them took the brunt of enemy fire.

Hyper-rounds shredded armor, flesh, and bone as they tore through unfortunate guardsmen; the ground was soon littered with bodies, and blood saturated the rockcrete. Jericus and Fenria crawled their way over to F-920 who was breathing hard with a large dent in his chest plate, but otherwise unharmed. They grabbed him pulling him toward some abandoned cars, the rest of the squad doing similar actions as the guardsmen sought out cover from the enemy onslaught.

Making it to the car Jericus and Fenria each began to look around the dead bulk and take shots when they could at the enemy. They coordinated as best they could, Fenria more successful because of her longlas and its hotshot clips, but they only were able to take out maybe three or four of the multitude of enemy troopers. The assault was at a standstill as the enemy ruthlessly pinned them down.

Jericus knew from prior firefights that they had no chance; the enemy's weapons seemed to have near limitless ammunition capacity. Hence why the guard attempted to avoid prolonged firefights and instead close the distance.

Suddenly a very welcome sound appeared over the _whip-crack_ of enemy fire, the sound of a Celk battle tank. Jericus, Fenria, and F-920 all watched in awe and relief from their position as the composite juggernaut of Celk engineering crashed through a building front to roll over the enemy position. It crushed enemy troopers flat, and then the tankers inside opened up with their heavy bolters to slaughter the troopers still reeling from their sudden entrance.

Guardsmen around them immediately cheered as they rose up and started to fire upon the enemy again, N.C.O's bellowed orders and got everyone back into formation, and they continued with the assault. Their main forces had arrived and it was time to push the advantage.

"Alright ground-pounders form up behind us and let's kill some rebels," the tank commander bellowed over the tank's external vox caster. His declaration was met by another cheer as they did just what he said, grouping up around the protective vehicle to continue the fight. Enemy hyper-rounds pinged off the tough front armor of the vehicle as it continued to pour heavy fire from its front-mounted bolters. Jericus peered around when opportunity presented itself to take shots at the enemy with Fenria and the still okay F-920.

For a while the battle was in their favor again, the battle was continuing up the road they were on, all the while they were picking up more and more guardsmen to help with the assault. As they came to an intersection in the roads, the tank they had been following which Jericus had noticed was ironically named the 'Halleluiah' suddenly stopped. The troopers not to far behind watched as the 'Halleluiah' rotated its turret as quickly as it could go, all the while a rather ominous thumping sound could be heard even over the din of battle.

The hallmark of an enemy hyper-round attack made itself known as it pierced through the side of the 'Halleluiah' creating a neat hole in both sides of the tough armor and taking the crew with it in a red trailing comet as it exited the other side of the tank. Jericus and everyone around him stopped and immediately went to cover; some of the Hoarfell troopers they had joined up with as well as a few Death Korps prepare anti-armor launchers. As they continued to hear the thumps growing closer Jericus had a sinking feeling in his stomach about what they would be facing.

It seemed to stroll casually around the corner, oversized weapon in hand and front sensors glowing an ominous red as it glared balefully at the guardsmen in their paltry cover. Leveling its weapon it fired, the hyper-round ripping through the air and anything else it came across, in this case some hapless Randon taking cover behind a derelict truck. The towering war-mech continued to fire off shots with its cannon, the only reprieve the guardsmen had was the two to three second delay between shots, but each shot was enough to kill even if it got within a few feet of where you were standing.

Jericus watched as teams of guardsmen prioritized troopers with anti-armor launchers, making sure they could get off shots with the weapons by focusing on enemy troopers that were rallying around the mech. One after the other three Imperial rockets hit the behemoth, some invisible force around it flickered as they impacted, the force doing little more than stagger it. Jericus realized what it was, the mech had a shield, similar to the heretic on Tartarius, only much bigger, and unfortunately more able to take damage.

"I repeat enemy walker, lost armor support, need backup, sector five!" Jericus heard Xavier shouting over his vox-caster, his friend had made his way over to him while all the confusion of the mech's arrival was happening. Jericus himself didn't know when, but his whole squad had taken cover, all of them having thrown themselves to the ground to avoid the onslaught.

Looking around his gear Jericus found something that could be helpful, an extra melta-charge, the Watchmaster had given him extra in case the squad needed it later, and Jericus was sure that now they needed it. He couldn't wait for any approval, and the mech would tear them all apart soon if it wasn't stopped, or at least slowed down. With his augmetic arm giving him the extra rotation he knew he'd be able to make the throw, activating the charge he set detonation on a delay of ten seconds, enough time to throw it and have it clear the distance before it went off.

He went around the right side of the car he was on to give himself better cover as he went to throw the charge, seeing his chance as the mech focused on his fellow guardsmen to the left Jericus chucked it. The charge seemed to fly through the air in slow motion, Jericus had aimed high so that it would arc down and still hopefully hit somewhere vital. To allow for more accurate shooting the mech's pilot opted to stand in one place confident its shields and armor could withstand the crude Imperial rockets and small arms fire.

It hit high on the machines left leg, the charges clamps activating as it hit the surface, the shields seemed to not register it, maybe it was going too slow, Jericus did not think about that though, he had dropped down back to cover the moment the charge had left his hand. The time delay hit zero, the distinct hiss-bang of a melta-charge became clear over the battle, metal groaned as the mech toppled over, and its dense alloys eaten through by the molten blast of energy.

Before it fully hit the ground it braced itself with its right arm, several more rockets hit it head on, its shields flickered and finally died as the last rocket hit. It bit through the armor, smoke and fire billowed from the entrance of the hole made. But it was still up and functional, just as the guardsmen though it was about to return unholy vengeance it seemed to be thrown to the side, another explosion taking it from its left.

Celk armor had finally arrived, just in time again to save the day. Jericus peered around his cover as three more Celk tank cannon rounds hit the mech, blowing the tough chassis open like a tin can. They then sent the enemy troopers scattering under heavy bolter fire, again Jericus was moving forward with the rest of the guard as they advanced to meet the Celk tanks now chasing the enemy away through the streets.

As they shot into the backs of retreating enemy soldiers Jericus reflected that so far this campaign had been just back and forth. They would get the jump on the enemy, the enemies superior technology would beat them back, but then the guard would just throw more bodies and tanks at the problem. So it went on, they would clear this city, of that Jericus had no doubt.

* * *

**See you all in one week, at most two.**

**300-709.**


End file.
